Black women are dying in education, and America needs to do something about it!
The latest news of the resignation of Harvard President Dr. Claudine Gay, and the untimely suicide of Dr. Antoinette Candia-Bailey have shaken me to my core, and their experiences are all too relatable. Dr. Claudine Gray faced immense humiliation, bullying and public scrutiny for her handling of anti-semitism on campus and accusations of plagiarism in her academic work. Lincoln University of Missouri Vice President of Student Affairs, Dr. Antoinette Candia-Bailey committed suicide on Jan 8th, and cited the contentious and toxic relationship between her and her boss Dr. John Moseley which led to the continued deterioration of her mental health. I have spent the past few weeks reading LinkedIn articles and personal testimonies on social media from other Black women expressing feelings of sorrow, defeat, and acknowledgement of their own experiences with racism, sexism, and ableism in predominately white workplaces. Our struggles and suffering are as communal as our support — so when one Black woman suffers at the hands of white supremacy, we all do.
Higher Education’s exclusion of Black people isn’t anything new — -from student resistance movements in the 1960s as a way to demand Black centered curriculum, hire more Black staff and faculty, and admit more Black students into historically white colleges and universities. Today, we’re constantly being reminded of how these spaces were never intended to include us — from the Supreme Court’s end to race-based admission, the attack on DEI, and the continued told and untold stories from women like Dr. Claudine Gay and Dr. Antoninette Candia-Bailey.
Even in the face of blatant exclusion, Black women have always been at the forefront of resistant and social change — and much of our own liberation and self-sufficiency has been achieved through education. As a young Black woman to two working class parents, going to college was non-negotiable, and I can imagine for many young Black girls growing up, you had to shoulder the burden of being the family member who had to make it, or ascend into a different and higher social class. Higher education has often been conceptualized as a pathway towards social and economic mobility, while also simultaneously being a site of racial inequality and systemic oppression.
Navigating through the formidable walls of an education system built on white supremacy meant that I experienced cognitive dissonance — being told that I had to go to college, while also being reminded that I didn’t quite belong. But isn’t this the perfect time to channel the proverbial Black Girl Magic, and rise high above the struggle? Much of the Black women experience is also centered on being passive to injustice, and unaffected by systemic oppression. You must be strong, steadfast and turn a blind eye — even if that means putting up with scrutiny, humiliation, abuse and toxic bosses. This means that many Black women suffer in silence or elect to say nothing knowing that the system that their families put so much faith in as a path towards success won’t protect them in moments of suffering and vulnerability.
I can recall being told as a child that my degrees are my weapon, and it’s something that no one can take away from me — which is partly why I chose to earn so many. There isn’t much a Black woman with a doctorate can’t do. I imagine women like Dr. Claudine Gay and Dr. Antoinette Candia-Bailey were also told these same lessons — only to encounter white supremacists who are hell bent on disparaging your degrees, and experience through racist witch hunts. You don’t have to be a Harvard President to truly understand what it feels like to be constantly reminded that you don’t belong in certain spaces — this exclusion shows up in other ways for some Black women like being left off emails, having a direct report go above your authority, not having your doctor title acknowledged, not being invited to company happy hours, or being interrupted in meetings. Dr. Claudine Gay made the bold decision to leave — but leaving isn’t always a choice afforded to many Black Women.
But why didn’t she just leave? I heard this question repeatedly in response to the suicide of Dr. Antoinette Candia-Bailey. America — you can’t have your cake and eat it too. You can’t tell Black women to be strong and exemplify Black Girl Magic in the face of defeat, while also being critical of their choice to stay in situations where their strength and fortitude is tested. It doesn’t work that way — and in cases of systemic injustice-America will always side with the oppressor. I won’t get into the absurdity of how a white man who spent the majority of his career in athletics excels to the ranks of a President at an HBCU because higher education has always favored nepotism and notoriety when it comes to hiring high rank leaders. But I will acknowledge that there is something so deeply significant and unbearable about being a Black woman in higher education.
Education has benefited from the exploitation of care labor from Black women — Black women were on the front lines protesting “the separate but equal” policy that barred Black children from schools in 1896, and they have served as unpaid and underpaid caregivers for white families. We see many educational institutions begging for the hiring of Black women staff and faculty, only to then segment and relegate them to dealing with diversity issues, or the more “troubled students.”
Higher education is an industry where you’re forced to sacrifice personal and professional boundaries, in the name of student success. I have heard stories of many Black women in higher education, specifically in student affairs, working long hours, being the last one to leave in the office, giving students rides in their personal vehicle or providing money to students experiencing hardships, being the first respondent to a student crisis, catching hell from students who complain about college processes, picking up the slack from lazy coworkers, and being the only one to advocate for student needs to leadership….the list goes on. You find yourself entangled between your fight for survival, and the all-encompassing nature of student advocacy work.
The problem is that even in spite of all of these work sacrifices, you’re being told that it’s not enough and that in order to be an effective student affairs practitioner, you must go the extra mile — only to find that the extra mile is nebulous, and there’s no end to self-exertion for Black women. Over the course of 13 years, I have constantly seen leadership sweep in fast and resolve issues of harm and mistreatment for white colleagues and students, much faster and more efficiently than they ever have for Black women leaders. Dr. Antoinette Candia-Bailey had 20 years of experience in education so as you can imagine — having your capacity stretched thin for this long only continues to erode your mental health and psychological stamina.
I am sure there are healthy educational institutions — and I commend leaders who are creating cultures where employees feel empathy, care and restoration — but for far too long, higher education has operated on a “chew them up and spit them out” mantra. I want to see higher education care for Black women better — I want to see institutions accept and fully embrace our whole selves — I want to see institutions not demand perfection and self-exertion for the sake of protecting institutional reputation. I want to see institutions hold toxic leaders accountable and create more pathways for reporting and accountability. I want college boards to be able to make termination decisions on the unfitness of college Presidents and/or chancellors. I want college boards and leaders to listen to Black women, the first time. I want institutions to realize that their inaction only creates space for toxicity to breed. I want institutions to value the contributions and positionality of Black women. I want institutions to acknowledge the care that many students receive is the result of a Black woman going the extra mile. I want institutions to value empathy, compassion and creating employee first work cultures. I want institutions to realize that anti-Blackness is not just something white people can perpetuate — our work lives do not automatically become better because our supervisor is a person of color. I want institutions to realize that Black women are dying, literally and figurately.
What I want may be impossible and that is what scares me.
