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Giving Back to Those Who Give: How HBCU Communities Can Support Their Alumni Teachers

Posted on February 3, 2026 by | Leave a comment

The drums of Africa still beat in my heart. They will not let me rest while there is a single Negro boy or girl without a chance to prove his worth. – Mary McLeod Bethune

Every day, thousands of HBCU alumni stand in front of classrooms across America, shaping young minds and breaking cycles of poverty through education. These teachers carry forward the legacy of their alma maters, often working in the nation’s most underfunded schools with the fewest resources. Yet too often, they do so without the support of the very communities that benefited from similar dedication during their own educational journeys.

The numbers tell a powerful story. As of this writing, 1,690 HBCU alumni are actively seeking support on DonorsChoose, the popular crowdfunding platform for classroom projects. These aren’t outliers. They represent a significant cross-section of HBCU graduates who chose the noble, challenging profession of teaching. What’s more striking is where they teach and the conditions they face: 1,661 of them work in historically underfunded schools. That’s 98% of HBCU alumni teachers on the platform working in institutions starved of adequate resources.

The funding gap these teachers navigate is staggering. Of the 1,690 HBCU alumni teachers, 1,202 have projects with zero donations. They’ve submitted requests for books, supplies, technology, and basic classroom materials, and they’re waiting for someone to care enough to help. Additionally, 182 have never received funding for any project they’ve ever posted. These are educators who have repeatedly asked for support and been met with silence. Perhaps most telling: 1,555 teach in schools where more than half of students come from low-income households, the same communities many HBCUs were founded to serve.

HBCU alumni entering the teaching profession isn’t coincidental; it’s part of a rich tradition. Historically Black Colleges and Universities were established with a mission to educate those who had been systematically excluded from higher education. Many HBCUs began as teacher training institutions, recognizing that education would be the key to Black advancement and self-determination. Schools like Bennett College, Miles College, Tuskegee University, and Wiley University produced generations of teachers who returned to their communities to educate the next generation.

This tradition continues today. HBCU graduates are more likely than their peers from other institutions to teach in high-need schools, to work with predominantly African American student populations, and to stay in the profession despite its challenges. They bring cultural competence, high expectations, and a deep understanding of the systemic barriers their students face. They are, in many ways, continuing the work their institutions started: creating pathways to opportunity through education.

Yet the schools where they teach are chronically underfunded. Decades of inequitable school funding formulas, property tax-based education systems, and discriminatory resource allocation have created a two-tiered education system. HBCU alumni teachers often find themselves purchasing classroom supplies out of pocket, fundraising for basic necessities, and making impossible choices about which students get access to which resources.

There’s a moral imperative for HBCU alumni, families, organizations, and associations to support their fellow graduates who have chosen teaching. These educators are extending the mission of HBCUs into K-12 classrooms. When an HBCU alumna teaching third grade needs books for her classroom library, she’s doing the work of literacy development that HBCUs have championed for over a century. When an HBCU alumnus teaching high school chemistry needs lab equipment, he’s preparing the next generation of STEM professionals, many of whom will attend HBCUs themselves.

Supporting HBCU alumni teachers is also an investment in community wealth-building. Education remains one of the most reliable paths to economic mobility. The students these teachers serve are disproportionately Black and brown children from low-income families. Quality education, with adequate resources, can break cycles of poverty. When we fund a classroom project for an HBCU graduate teaching in Detroit, Atlanta, or rural Mississippi, we’re investing in future engineers, doctors, teachers, and leaders.

Moreover, there’s a pragmatic networking advantage. The HBCU community is uniquely positioned to support its own. Alumni associations already have infrastructure for giving. Fraternities and sororities have national reach and local chapters. HBCU families understand the value of these institutions and want to see their impact multiplied. By channeling even a fraction of philanthropic dollars toward HBCU alumni teachers, these networks can create measurable change in thousands of classrooms.

Supporting HBCU alumni teachers doesn’t require massive institutional change or million-dollar commitments, though those would certainly help. It starts with awareness and intentionality. There are concrete steps HBCU communities can take, starting with funding classroom projects on DonorsChoose. The platform makes it easy to search for HBCU alumni teachers. Alumni associations can create giving campaigns around Homecoming, Founders’ Day, or Giving Tuesday specifically to fund projects by graduates. A $50 donation can purchase books for a classroom library. A $200 donation can buy tablets for student learning. A $500 donation can transform a science lab. Individual alumni can adopt a teacher from their alma mater and commit to funding their projects annually.

Beyond direct funding, HBCU communities can create mentorship and professional development opportunities. Many HBCU alumni teachers work in isolation, without access to the kind of collegial support and professional growth opportunities their non-HBCU peers enjoy. Alumni associations can host virtual meetups, share teaching resources, or create affinity groups for teachers by subject area or grade level. Greek organizations can leverage their networks to connect teachers across cities and states. Experienced educators can mentor early-career teachers, helping them navigate challenges and avoid burnout.

Amplifying voices and celebrating work matters too. Social media campaigns highlighting HBCU alumni teachers, their innovative classroom practices, and their students’ achievements can build awareness and attract support. Alumni magazines can feature teacher profiles. Homecoming events can honor outstanding educators. This recognition matters not just for morale but for retention. Teaching is hard, underpaid work, and feeling seen and valued by one’s community makes a difference.

Perhaps most importantly, HBCU communities should support organizations that support teachers systemically. The Black Teacher Collaborative, an HBCU-founded and led organization, exemplifies this approach. Founded by educators from HBCUs, the Collaborative works to increase the number of Black teachers, improve their working conditions, and elevate their leadership in education policy. Supporting organizations like the Black Teacher Collaborative multiplies impact. They provide professional development, advocacy, research, and community-building that individual donations to classroom projects cannot. They work systemically to address the conditions that force teachers to crowdfund for basic supplies.

The Black Teacher Collaborative’s team brings deep expertise in teacher preparation, retention, and advocacy. They understand the unique challenges HBCU graduates face in the teaching profession and the unique assets they bring. Supporting such organizations isn’t charity; it’s strategic investment in educational equity and teacher empowerment.

While individual and organizational philanthropy is crucial, the root problem is systemic underfunding of public schools, particularly those serving low-income students and African American students. HBCU alumni, with their networks and influence, can advocate for equitable school funding formulas, increased teacher salaries, and policies that support rather than burden classroom teachers. Alumni associations and Greek organizations can engage in collective advocacy, using their political capital to push for the structural changes that would make teacher crowdfunding unnecessary.

Creating sustained support for HBCU alumni teachers requires more than one-off donations or awareness campaigns. It requires building a culture where supporting educators is seen as central to the HBCU mission, not peripheral to it. Alumni associations can integrate teacher support into their annual giving programs. Greek organizations can make teacher appreciation a national initiative. HBCU families can include teachers in their philanthropic planning.

This culture shift starts with storytelling. When alumni share why they support teachers, they inspire others. When teachers share how support has transformed their classrooms, they make the impact tangible. When students whose lives have been changed speak up, they close the loop. These stories, shared widely and often, create momentum. It also requires accountability. Alumni associations and organizations should set goals: How many teacher projects will we fund this year? How many teachers will we mentor? How much will we donate to organizations like the Black Teacher Collaborative? Tracking progress and reporting results keeps teacher support visible and valued.

Supporting HBCU alumni teachers is about more than helping individuals; it’s about sustaining a tradition and building a movement. HBCUs have always been about uplift, not just of individuals but of entire communities. When we support teachers, we honor that legacy. We ensure that the next generation has access to educators who see their brilliance, understand their context, and refuse to let resource scarcity limit their potential.

The 1,690 HBCU alumni on DonorsChoose represent thousands more working in schools across the country. They are the inheritors of a tradition that goes back to the founding of HBCUs themselves. They deserve our support, our celebration, and our partnership. The question is not whether we can afford to support them but whether we can afford not to.

The call to action is clear: HBCU alumni, log onto DonorsChoose and fund a project. HBCU families, talk to your children about the importance of supporting educators. HBCU organizations, make teacher support a strategic priority. Greek letter organizations, mobilize your networks for collective impact. And everyone, support HBCU-founded organizations like the Black Teacher Collaborative that are working for systemic change.

Our alumni teachers are out there every day, doing the work HBCUs prepared them to do. It’s time we showed up for them the way they show up for their students. It’s time we invested in those who are investing in our future. It’s time we gave back to those who give so much.

Disclaimer: This article was assisted by ClaudeAI.

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Is the Love of Sports Costing African America the STEM Future It Desperately Needs?

Posted on November 28, 2025 by | Leave a comment

The future will not belong to those who can jump the highest, but to those who can think the deepest.” — Anonymous (Modern African Proverb Reimagined)

For every hour a Black boy or girl spends practicing, playing, or watching sports, it becomes an hour not spent mastering math, science, literature, or history. Over time, those missed hours compound not just in skill gaps, but in confidence gaps. And confidence, in education as in life, is everything. The long-term consequence of this imbalance may be far greater than lost academic opportunities. It may be the loss of African America’s ability to compete in the 21st-century economy and the slow erosion of its intellectual sovereignty.

Sports are a cherished part of African American culture, woven through family traditions, community pride, and generational memory. From Jackie Robinson to Serena Williams, from Doug Williams to Simone Biles, athletic greatness has symbolized resilience and excellence in a world that too often sought to deny both. But beneath the surface of that cultural triumph lies an uncomfortable reality: the love of the game may have become too consuming, crowding out the time, attention, and aspiration needed for mastery in science, technology, engineering, and mathematics — the disciplines defining wealth and power in the modern world.

A study by GradePower Learning found that American students spend about 1,000 hours in school each year — and roughly the same amount watching screens. For African American youth, however, there’s an additional pull: sports participation, practices, and games can consume 10 to 20 hours a week, not counting the time spent watching sports media, highlights, or discussing the latest player stats. By the time a child reaches high school graduation, those hours can exceed 8,000 — the equivalent of four full years of math or science instruction. What might have been time spent learning quadratic equations or Newton’s laws becomes time devoted to perfecting a crossover dribble or memorizing playbooks.

In theory, sports are said to teach discipline, teamwork, and perseverance — invaluable traits for life and leadership. But decades of African American participation in sports have shown that, in practice, these virtues rarely translate into collective advancement or institutional power for the community. Sports teach many to endure, but not necessarily to build. They inspire personal excellence but often without structural returns. Meanwhile, other ethnic groups are compounding their time in STEM preparation. In Asian households, it is not uncommon for students to attend supplemental weekend academies for math and science. The same can be said of many immigrant families who prioritize educational mastery as a direct pathway to generational wealth.

This divergence begins early. By middle school, African American students already lag behind in math and science proficiency, and by high school, many have internalized the belief that they “aren’t math people.” Yet, that belief is not innate; it’s cultivated by the habits of time and attention society rewards.

The youth sports economy in the United States is now valued at over $30 billion, according to USA Today. Parents are spending thousands each year on club fees, travel tournaments, gear, and coaching — often with dreams of athletic scholarships or professional contracts that statistically almost never come. A 2025 USA Today report noted that many parents invest between $5,000 and $10,000 annually per child in competitive sports, hoping to secure a college scholarship. Yet, NCAA data show that less than 2% of high school athletes earn athletic scholarships, and an even smaller fraction go on to professional sports.

When those numbers are mapped against household wealth, the economic irony becomes staggering. The median net worth of African American families remains around $44,900, compared to $285,000 for White families. If the average family spends $10,000 per year on youth sports for a decade, they could instead have invested $100,000 into a 529 education savings plan or a family investment fund. Compounded annually at 7%, that investment would yield roughly $196,000 by the time their child turns 18 — enough to pay for college tuition, or serve as seed capital for a business. But the investment goes into jerseys, tournaments, and sneakers. Sports is not just a pastime anymore; it’s an industry — one that thrives on hope, marketing, and the dream of ascension. For African American families, that dream often overshadows a deeper one: intellectual independence.

From the earliest ages, children internalize the models of success they see. If every hero they admire dribbles, runs, or dunks, it subtly shapes what they believe they must become to matter. The African American community has created icons in every field, but sports icons receive disproportionate visibility, media coverage, and cultural veneration. Young boys can name more NFL quarterbacks than Black engineers, scientists, or inventors. This imbalance creates a quiet but powerful feedback loop. The more the community celebrates athletic success as the highest expression of Black excellence, the fewer young people will be inspired to emulate scientific or entrepreneurial greatness. The idolization of the athlete — rather than the innovator — becomes a generational tax on imagination.

STEM confidence, like athletic skill, is built through repetition and exposure. A child who spends thousands of hours practicing sports builds confidence in their athletic identity. A child who spends thousands of hours exploring robotics or chemistry develops confidence in their intellectual identity. The problem is not talent — it’s time allocation.

If African America’s endowments are to grow, its intellectual capital must first be rebalanced. STEM fields are not just high-paying; they are high-leverage. Engineers design cities, coders build economies, and scientists control the frontiers of technology and medicine. When African American students are absent from these sectors, it isn’t just a diversity gap — it’s a sovereignty gap. Every innovation African America fails to own is an innovation it must rent from others. Every algorithm not written, every patent not filed, every lab not funded contributes to institutional dependency. Historically Black Colleges and Universities sit at a unique crossroads. While they have been strong in liberal arts, education, and social sciences, they must now pivot aggressively toward STEM dominance. Yet even they face a cultural headwind — many incoming students have been nurtured to see physical performance as validation of worth, while intellectual rigor is often seen as a burden rather than a badge.

An HBCU graduate in engineering or computer science may go on to invent, design, and build. An HBCU athlete may entertain millions. But the wealth gap between those two trajectories is not just individual — it’s institutional. Consider the compound effect of lost hours: one hour per day diverted from academic enrichment equals 365 hours per year. Over 13 years of schooling (Pre-K through 12th grade), that’s nearly 4,750 hours — more than two full school years of instruction. That’s just for one hour. Many student-athletes spend much more time — often 10 or more hours weekly — on practice, travel, and games. By high school, this could exceed 10,000 hours — the exact amount Malcolm Gladwell famously cited as the threshold for mastery in any field.

African American students are becoming masters — just not in the fields where mastery translates into institutional control or generational wealth. Imagine if even half of those hours were redirected into robotics clubs, science fairs, financial literacy programs, or coding bootcamps. The shift in intellectual and economic trajectory would be profound. Culture cannot change overnight, but it can evolve intentionally. African American parents, educators, and institutions must begin redefining what excellence looks like — and where the applause should go. Families should celebrate as loudly when a child aces a chemistry exam or builds a mobile app as when they score a touchdown. Public affirmation must follow academic achievement with the same enthusiasm it gives athletic performance.

The money spent on club sports, travel, and equipment could be partially reallocated to STEM programs, tutoring, or even early college credit courses. Financial discipline must mirror the rigor of athletic discipline. Imagine a Saturday morning robotics league with the same energy as youth basketball — complete with team jerseys, community support, and trophies. Institutions like HBCUs could sponsor regional competitions to make intellectual pursuit a spectator event. HBCUs can create mentorship pipelines connecting student-athletes with STEM majors to promote balance. Athletic departments should collaborate with STEM departments on interdisciplinary projects that merge sports analytics, biomechanics, and data engineering. Families can begin small: a weekly science documentary, math challenges at the dinner table, or trips to museums and tech expos. What matters most is that curiosity and analysis become part of the household rhythm.

America’s future wealth and power will flow through those who master technology, not those who merely consume it. The engineers designing renewable energy grids, the programmers writing AI code, and the scientists developing space propulsion systems are the ones shaping the next civilization. African America cannot afford to be absent from that frontier — nor can it afford to lose another generation to the illusion of athletic access as a substitute for academic and economic power. The cultural love of sports, once a symbol of survival and community, must now evolve into a love of systems, science, and strategy. The same passion that drives the athlete can drive the engineer. The same discipline that fuels a 5 a.m. workout can fuel a 5 a.m. study session. But only if the institutions — families, schools, and HBCUs — are intentional in redirecting that energy.

The African American community once used sports as a pathway to dignity in a segregated world. Now, the challenge is to use STEM as a pathway to dominance in a digitized one. The scoreboard has changed, and so must the game. For every hour spent on a basketball court, a track, or a field, there should be an equal hour at a computer, in a lab, or under a microscope. Not because sports don’t matter, but because the future does. To win this century, African America must love the pursuit of knowledge more than the pursuit of applause. Its children must learn to compete not just on the field — but in the lab, the boardroom, and the data center. Otherwise, the highlight reels will continue to roll, but the ownership of the next generation’s wealth and innovation will belong to someone else.

Disclaimer: This article was assisted by ChatGPT.

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