Introduction

In 1933 distinguished scholar and educator Carter G. Woodson reflected on the condition of education for Black people and the prospects for future generations charged with carrying the mantle of Black education. Upon this reflection, Woodson (1933) declared:

If we are to do identically the same thing from generation to generation, we would not make any progress…. In this particular respect “Negro education” is a failure, and disastrously so, because in its present predicament the race is especially in need of vision and invention to give humanity something new. The world does not want and will never have the heroes and heroines of the past. What this age needs is an enlightened youth not to undertake the tasks like theirs but to imbibe the spirit of these great men and answer the present call of duty with equal nobleness of soul. (p. 138)

Arguably, Woodson’s counsel on the dynamics of generational progress, his critique of our nostalgic preoccupation with the leaders of the past, and his appeal for a new—yet, equally noble—vision for “Negro education” is more germane in 2011 than it was when he etched these eloquent words. Certainly, Black colleges and universities have been platforms for the training and emergence of many visionary leaders and social justice activists subsequent to 1933 when Woodson heralded the call for “an enlightened youth.” In fact, the contribution of Black leaders and movements related to racial uplift have been examined in the 80 years since Woodson’s analysis (see Allen and Jewell 2002; Allen et al. 2007; Anderson 1988; Brown 1999, 2001; Brown and Davis 2001; Brown and Freeman 2004; Gasman 1999, 2001; Jackson and Nunn 2003; Jean-Marie 2008; Ricard and Brown 2008; Williamson 2008). Still, there is a ‘presentness’ to Woodson’s analysis that was crystallized as I watched a CNN interview of Dr. Bernice King—daughter of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.—1 week prior to the inauguration of President Barack Obama in 2009. News anchor, Tony Harris, asked King to describe what she thought her father would think about the election of the first African American president only 40 years after his death. She said:

Biblically, 40 is the number of generations. So there’s a change that always occurs around the number 40 in terms of generations….daddy died literally 40 years ago. The same year that Obama was elected in 2008, 40 years ago, in ‘68, daddy was assassinated. Here you have 40 years later this leader emerging, kind of in a sense saying, “we as a people can get there,” and here is Obama responding back, “Yes, we can.” (King 2009)

The utilization of biblical allusions is quite common in history, particularly for Black people, as evidenced by Harriet Tubman earning the nickname “Moses” and the parallels made between the Israelites’ 40 year journey from Egyptian oppression and the emancipation of Black people from slavery. The significance of biblical parallels and generational intersections is obviously not lost on Obama. Remnick (2008) recounts:

It was only on March 4, 2007, a few weeks after he announced his candidacy for President, that Obama explicitly inserted himself in the time line of American racial politics. At the Brown Chapel A.M.E. Church, in Selma, Alabama, he joined older civil-rights leaders and churchmen in commemorating the voting-rights marches a generation ago. From the pulpit, Obama paid tribute to “the Moses generation”—to Martin Luther King and John Lewis, to Anna Cooper and the Reverend Joseph Lowery—the men and women of the movement, who marched and suffered but who, in many cases “didn’t cross over the river to see the Promised Land.” He thanked them, praised their courage, honored their martyrdom. But he spent much of his speech on his own generation, “the Joshua generation,” and tried to answer the question, “What’s called of us?” (p. 1)

The question, “What’s called of us,” is relevant for the discussion being undertaken in this article; lodged within the language of Obama’s question are probings about the intersections between identity, purpose, and generational accountability.

It is significant to note that spirituality and religion—which are notions that can be both related and distinct—have been ever-present and consistently influential forces in Black communities (Dantley 2005; Douglas and Peck in press; McAdoo 2007). As the preeminent institution for the expression of spirituality among peoples of African descent, the Black church has been historically active as a socializing, educative, and liberatory space for African Americans (Douglas and Peck in press; Drake and Canton 1945; Hale 2001; Lincoln and Mamiya 1990; Turner and Bagley 2000). More than that, as Hale (2001) asserts, “The African American church is the most important institution in the African American community and is supported and controlled entirely by African American people. African American churches were burned and bombed during and after the modern civil rights movement because they represented Black power, independence, and self-determination” (p. 155). Serving as a space where spirituality and education converge, the Black church has been and continues to be a reservoir and resource for educational advancement for Black people (Douglas and Peck in press). In light of this rich history of spirituality for African Americans, it is not surprising that scholars would consider it appropriate to label the present generation of youth as “the Joshua generation” (Remnick 2008, p. 1) drawing on the biblical account of Joshua and Caleb’s audacious leadership after the death of Moses (see Numbers 14).

Nevertheless, there was a profundity about Bernice King’s statement during the inauguration that I could not readily shake. Her insight into the timing of these historic events (the death of Dr. King and the election of President Obama) and the potential generational implications propelled me to ponder more deeply on the last 40 years. I thought about the mutation of overt racism into more insidious and injurious forms of covert racism. I thought about the outrage in response to Attorney General Eric Holder’s declaration during a speech on February 18, 2009, that America “continue[s] to be…essentially a nation of cowards” on the issue of race, even as evidence suggests that Holder’s statement—though politically imprudent—was and continues to be closer to the truth than many would like to admit. More recently, I have thought about the errant claims that we now live in a post-racial society juxtaposed with an anonymous phone call I received from an angry voice in the night, “You niggas should never have been released from slavery…you should be hanging from a tree.” There was an irony to the timing of this distasteful phone call; I was in the midst of revising this particular manuscript: an article that makes reference to individuals who were frequent recipients of racist threats and acts of violence. I thought about the disproportionate underrepresentation of Black men on college campuses, the disproportionate overrepresentation of Black men in the prison system, and the disturbing rates of father loss, poor schools, school dropout, and troubled neighborhoods that impact families of color (Douglas and Gause 2009; Ferguson 2000; Gause 2008; Harper 2006; Hunter et al. 2006). I thought about those like Bonilla-Silva (2006) who are calling for students of color to join a “new civil rights movement” but have failed to account for their generational disconnect from the last one (p. 212). I thought about the Black church, which has—arguably—been complicit in moral compromise and spiritual complacency (Gause 2008). I thought about the confluence and influence of these dynamics on the past, present, and future of historically Black colleges and universities (HBCUs), which serve as cultural conduits of Black life and Black people (in the United States). Moreover, I asked, “How have HBCUs been affected by the cultural climate of the last 40 years, what roles have these institutions played in the production of the status quo, and what hope can they offer for the development of an ‘enlightened youth’ (Woodson 1933, p. 138)?” Still, I recognize that mere thought and reflection are insufficient if they are not partnered with the agency to act and a commitment to deliberate action. This paper is one step in the action process.

From Where and When I Enter the Discourse

Drawing from a journal reflection I wrote in the days leading up to the inauguration of President Barak Obama, this vignette highlights from where and when I enter this discourse:

Until recently, I couldn’t figure out why I was struggling to completely connect with the full magnitude of the accomplishment [the election of a Black president]. Could it be because despite having some roots in the United States, I was born and raised in Bermuda? Possibly. But I don’t think that is all of it. To me, President Obama’s accomplishment feels like victory in the midst of defeat. If this was a soccer match, this election of a Black president would probably be described as “scoring a goal against the run of play.” The work that we engage in [as educators and advocates of social justice] and the problems we fight are not new nor few…. Perhaps my peculiar reaction to this historic event is related to the fact that I’ve felt somewhat cheated by the limited schoolhouse exposure I had to Black history—an exposure that didn’t go too far beyond Rosa Parks, MLK, and Harriet Tubman. The landmark events of previous generations have been hidden in textbooks from my generation. I have heard about the great events of the past, but I’ve lived under the weight of apparent generational mediocrity and disassociation from the great movements of the past. We [Black people] have been cast as victims more than victors in mainstream history. We have been sold the masterscript, and I had to come out of the system to realize it! It must be a wonderful thing to have experienced and actively participated in the journey and to now see from whence we’ve come. I can only sit and admire the sense of accomplishment that my gray-haired, elder statesmen/women feel right now. I feel like I am/my generation is jumping on the bandwagon late. Like Roland Martin [CNN commentator] said, this is our first event that we have lived through, and I should celebrate it. But I cannot allow any learning community to which I have influence to allow its citizens to live with their heads in the sand. This generation of young people must know that the struggle predates us but the struggle still continues; the disproportionalities that plague the lived experiences of Black families, and Black males in particular, speak to this reality in spite of President Obama’s significant individual accomplishment.

As an emerging scholar, educator, and socially conscious Black man of the post-civil rights era, I continue to feel the tensions expressed in this vignette. As an instructor of an undergraduate education course for pre-service teachers at my university, I am constantly pushing students to critically reflect on the micro and macro dynamics of power by challenging them to see beyond individual accomplishments in order to better assess the systematic constructs that often frame the realities of the masses. Particularly problematic for many of my students (both White and Black) is understanding the insidious nature of racism as an institutionalized system of power. I try to unpack the disconnects that my students describe when attempting to situate the historical lessons gained in my course with the narrow masterscripts to which they were/are exposed during their K-12 school experiences and education courses while in college. Yet, as an advocate of HBCUs and graduate and proud alumnus of an HBCU (Oakwood University), I, too, find myself wrestling with my own positionality within larger discourses of history and their contemporary ramifications for a new generation of scholars, educators, and students.

Drawing on the biblical accounts of Moses and Joshua as leaders who guided two distinct generations of Israelites on their journey from Egyptian bondage to Canaan (the Promised Land), this theoretical paper challenges stakeholders (i.e., administrators, educators, students) of HBCUs to examine how the “wilderness” or generational shift of the last 40 years has been affected by idol worship, as manifested in materialism, (damaging conceptualizations of) Western masculinity, and spiritual malefaction. I trace my evaluation back to the crucible of the civil rights movement and the ‘iconization’ of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. I utilize Dr. King because of his positionality as one of the most recognizable graduates of an HBCU (Morehouse College), his status as the icon of the civil rights movement, and his leadership within the Black church as, what some may describe as, a Moses-like figure. Because HBCUs draw their students almost exclusively from Black communities, I assert that stakeholders of HBCUs must be intentional about directly accounting for the cultural climate and shifts in Black communities (and the wider society) so that HBCUs can not only prepare a new generation of agents for social change, but they can also continue to effectively produce students who are committed to service and social justice.

To be clear, I am not contesting the fact that many students and graduates of HBCUs admirably serve their communities. Instead, I am acknowledging that with each generation come new challenges that must be accounted for and overcome if an institution is to sustain and even surpass the successes of the past. I believe HBCUs can prepare future leaders for what Bonilla-Silva (2006) describes as a “new civil rights movement,” by counteracting the iniquitous ideology of individualism that threatens the very fabric of our communities. I contend that stakeholders of HBCUs must account for the effects of society’s idolatrous, media-driven worship of civil rights icons, lest we indoctrinate the same individualistic ethos into a new generation that is already spellbound by the consumerist commodification of Barak Obama, who some may see as a Joshua-like figure.Footnote 1 Moreover, within some Black communities and the wider society, individual success and personal notoriety are damagingly portrayed as more valuable than collective effort and community accountability. Because these individualistic ideologies are antithetical to the mission of HBCUs, they must be considered by school stakeholders if HBCUs are to continue to serve as reservoirs for social uplift and spaces where women and men are equipped to resist pejorative social conditions. I include narrative vignettes from current students and recent graduates of an HBCU to demonstrate how personal resistance is encouraged and experienced in the lives of “the Joshua generation.”

Explaining Key Concepts

In general, idol worship is being employed as an umbrella term to refer to the manner in which particular individuals have been exalted by the media and deified in the community (i.e., Dr. King and President Obama). In particular, idol worship is also being utilized as a fulcrum to explain the manifestation of particular characteristics in contemporary Western culture, namely: materialism, (destructive conceptualizations of) masculinity, and spiritual malefaction. I recognize there are inherent dangers when trying to describe particular community, cultural, and institutional dynamics. Certainly, the risks of inappropriate generalizations, hyperbole, and understatement are real—especially when one considers the amount of variance that exists within and across communities, cultures, and institutions; moreover, none of these contexts or institutions are monolithic, including HBCUs (see Williamson 2008). For example, references to “the Black community” as a single entity in this paper are not intended to essentialize Black communities or ignore the diversity that exist amongst peoples of African descent.

Another concept worthy of clarification is the notion of “the new civil rights movement” which is drawn from the work of Bonilla-Silva (2006). He describes “the new civil rights movement” as a “frontal attack on the new racism and its color-blind ideology” (p. 213), which continues to privilege White supremacists paradigms while ignoring the insidious—yet equally volatile—nature of racism (as a social and institutional construct) in the twentyfirst century. In this respect, it is significant to note that in this paper racism is specifically defined as “race prejudice coupled with social and institutional power” (Okun and Jones 2000, p. 1).

Conceptual Framework: The HBCU as Cultural and Community Conduit

Central to my argument is the understanding that the HBCU is so much more than a schoolhouse; the HBCU is an extension of the Black family that has “been at the center of the Black struggle for equality and dignity” (Allen et al. 2007, p. 263). In spite of the discussions and dissenting perspectives on the past and present relevance of HBCUs, the history and effects of post civil war legislation (i.e., the Morrill Act), and the questioning of the motives of White philanthropic support for the formation of many of these institutions, I concur with Jones (1971) who asserts that Black colleges fulfilled their post-emancipation “major responsibility…[of] developing a cadre of Blacks who could challenge and overcome immediate threats to the survival of the Black community at the time” (p. 733). Still, even as HBCUs continue to be nurturing learning spaces for all who can and are willing to learn (Kannerstein 1978; Ricard and Brown 2008), in each generation Black colleges are faced with new challenges and “new responsibilities to their communities” that must be addressed if they are to remain relevant (Jones 1971).

It is critical to couch this discussion of HBCUs within the larger context of education for Black people and the Black community, recognizing that an in-depth explanation of the history of HBCUs is beyond the scope of this particular discussion. One must never forget that there are intimate connections between Black communities and HBCUs, which are facilitated by the sharing of peoples, ideologies, and cultural norms. Said differently, the stakeholders and students who sojourn through the halls of HBCUs are not just connected to and a reflection of the peoples, cultures, and institutions in Black communities, they make up the very fabric of [the external] Black communities (Davidson 2001; Jackson and Nunn 2003). Jones (1971), in challenging language that would suggest that the Black community and the Black college are “two separate and distinct entities” (p. 734), declares:

The relationship [between the Black community and the HBCU] is more of an organic one. The college, like myriad other institutions, is established by the community to perform certain functions deemed essential to its survival. The community, one must remember, is the sum total of the infinite patterns of goal directed activities of its members acting both as individuals and as constituents of groups and institutions. (p. 734)

Moreover, the triumphs and trials of HBCUs directly affect Black communities even as the triumphs and trials of Black communities impact HBCUs; this reciprocity is rooted in the sharing of culture, which is significant context for contemporary leaders in HBCUs who must manage trends occurring in some Black communities. Both Davidson (2001) and Jackson and Nunn (2003) suggest that the connections between HBCUs and Black communities endure in the twentyfirst century.

Karenga and Karenga (2007) describe culture as “…the totality of thought and practice by which a people creates itself, celebrates, sustains, and develops itself, and introduces itself to history and humanity” (p. 11), while Smircich (1983) sees culture as the “social and normative glue” that espouses the “social ideals and the beliefs” shared by members of the organization (p. 344). Revealing how culture and institutions of higher education intersect, Birnbaum (1988, 1992) notes that colleges and universities are unique and complex social systems and that the confluence of these dynamics form an organizational culture. Organizational culture reflects the norms, social contexts, environments, programs, and policies (Jean-Marie 2008; Rutherford 2001; Still 1994) that individuals in institutions use to create “social realities” (Birnbaum 1988, p. 72), to the extent that shared “organizational culture is a powerful way of looking at how people in institutions create social reality through their interactions and interpretations” (p. 72). Most significant, for the purposes of this discussion, is to establish that the organizational culture of HBCUs—the social realities of the HBCU stakeholders, particularly those of this generation of students—is a microcosm of the larger Black community and Western culture in general. I later take up this point through the narratives of the HBCU students in this study in order to discuss the intersections between the creation of “social realities” for Black students and the need for HBCU leaders to be accountable for generational shifts.

Notably, generational, cultural, and ideological shifts are not endemic to HBCUs or the Black community. Davidson (2001) asserts that African Americans are far more than a social or ethnic coterie but are instead members of a culture—and this culture is transmitted in HBCUs to Black students much like historically White institutions transmit their culture to White students. What makes HBCUs unique, however, is their mission of social uplift for Black people. This mission continues to demand that stakeholders of HBCUs are intentional about resisting the negative effects of Western culture, policy, and history that have consistently conspired against people of color in this nation.

While scholars have contributed handsomely to the body of research on the robust history of HBCUs (including Allen and Jewell 2002; Billingsley and Elam 1986; Brown and Davis 2001; Gasman 2007a, b; Jackson and Nunn 2003; Jean-Marie 2008), the perspectives and narratives of HBCU stakeholders on issues of cultural identity and spirituality are far more limited in the literature. Particularly limited are works that account for the unique dynamics of this “Joshua generation” (Remnick 2008, p. 1) and the larger cultural constructs in Black communities and society at large. I seek to add to the discourse by highlighting three challenges in Black communities that should be directly accounted for in order to ensure the continued efficacy of HBCUs as educative centers for this generation of youth. These three areas are (a) materialism, (b) (destructive conceptualizations of) Western masculinity, and (c) spiritual malefaction. In the subsequent sections of the paper, I explore how the three aforementioned areas are impacting the Black community and how these dynamics are being resisted at HBCUs through the narratives of six current and former students of an HBCU.

Methods

In addition to offering a theoretical argument, I sought to better understand how HBCUs serve as sources of resistance through the narratives of present students and recent graduates of an HBCU. I chose network sampling to recruit participants (Wolff 1999) because it allowed me to utilize preexisting relationships with stakeholders at an HBCU, and I used qualitative interviews to investigate participants’ experiences at an HBCU in the Southern region of the United States. The six participants in this study (two first-year students, two upperclass students, and two graduates of HBCUs) were education majors, pre-service teachers, or educators in community settings (i.e., General Equivalency Diploma programs). Participants were asked about their perceptions of gender identity, spirituality, “the Joshua generation,” and the intersections between the legacies of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Barak Obama. Specifically, a poster of King and Obama was used as a bookend to the interviews, with participants being questioned about the inscription on the poster (“I have a dream; I am the dream”) as the first and last question of the interviews. The participants were information rich (Patton 1990) in that they were willing to share openly about their personal beliefs, experiences, and ideologies within the context of their positionalities as students or graduates of an HBCU. I interviewed the six participants using a semi-structured interview protocol to extract rich and detailed data (Creswell 1998). All of the interviews were tape recorded and lasted between 45 min and 2 h. I was sensitive to matters of confidentiality as I planned and conducted the interviews. Pseudonyms were used to limit the risk of identification. Participants were informed that they could withdraw from the study at any time.

The method of data analysis incorporated elements of a deductive a priori determination of codes (Crabtree and Miller 1999) drawn from the predetermined topics of this study and thematic analysis (Glesne 2006). The topics of materialism, Western masculinity, and spiritual malefaction served as an initial “template” (Crabtree and Miller 1999) for organizing participants’ narratives for subsequent evaluation, and then thematic analysis (Glesne 2006) was used to search and synthesize for patterns and interpret the data drawn from participants’ responses to the interview questions. Using these methods, themes emerged within the larger predetermined topics of the study. In pursuit of validity in this study, I allowed for and examined “competing explanations and discrepant data,” (Maxwell 2005, p. 126) so that my study affirmed the knowledge, perspectives and experiences of the participants. Upon collection of the data, the researcher transcribed the interviews verbatim. Representation trustworthiness of the data analysis was attended to through member checks (Brenner 2006; Hatch 2002; Lincoln and Denzin 2003).

Findings

To reiterate, this study sought to better understand how HBCUs serve as sources of resistance to three ideologies that I contend are particularly relevant for “the Joshua generation.” They are (a) materialism, (b) (destructive conceptualizations of) Western masculinity, and (c) spiritual malefaction. The findings suggest that students who enter and matriculate through HBCUs today are challenged to form individual identities within a complex web of cultural and contemporary idiosyncrasies that are, in many ways, diametrically opposed to the HBCU mission of service and community uplift. Notably, many of the interview participants highlighted the emphasis placed on ideologies of community accountability and service at their HBCU. Similarly, participants referenced experiences of academic, spiritual, and social “renovation” as a result of the nurturing environment of their HBCU. My examination of materialism, Western masculinity, and spiritual malefaction, coupled with the participants’ narratives, reveal how HBCUs can serve as sources of resistance to the generational and cultural climate of this era.

The Malignity of Materialism

Black America has been seduced by a mass culture that, according to Gause (2008), has “fus[ed]… American culture’s latent and persisting desire for Blackness with consumerist desire” (p. 41). A collective fascination with cultural icons has merged and been buttressed by the ever-expanding potency of the media to promote materialism. This development has been particularly problematic for the Black community, which is often targeted for consumer gain without adequate critique of the dangerous images and ideals sold in and through the media (Gause 2008; West 1993). These realities invariably impact today’s youth. Through the media, “the Joshua generation” is told that anyone can be the next music mogul, reality television star, or sports sensation. And if we don’t get our big break, there is always Facebook, YouTube, and Twitter to satisfy our narcissism. While these dynamics are not especially unique to the Black community, the effects of the media are particularly acute in Black communities where there is an absence of diversity as it relates to the coverage given to positive Black role models beyond the realm of sports figures and music artists. We have all been affected through our direct and indirect exposure to media, technology, and other human beings; this includes HBCUs, which, as a vital institution of resistance to these oppressive paradigms, must account for the social climate of idol worship and the cultural rip tides of materialism, as espoused through the expansive influence of the media.

Over the last 40 years, the media has managed to minimize the civil rights movement to one great man with a dream. Dr. King has become an idol at the expense of the thousands of nameless, faceless, unsung warriors who walked, marched, picketed, prayed, and bled. By highlighting Dr. King as the sole hero of the civil rights movement, his legacy has been commodified and reduced to a consumable product for capitalistic gain while the invaluable contributions of so many other participants of the Movement have become a forgotten aside. The product—one man’s image—has overshadowed the process: the collective mobilization of persons who were more committed to service and social justice than individual gain. The travesty is that many young people today associate civil rights with a man rather than a movement due to the manner in which the media focuses on particular individuals instead of the larger cause. Still worse, because, like most heroes, Dr. King is portrayed as perfect, the true power of his life and example is deadened by the perceived distance between his constructed greatness and the capacity of the average person. The Black community is particularly susceptible to these narrow conceptualizations of King’s legacy because of his stature as a Black leader who is one of the most prominent (inter)national icons, coupled with the paucity of positive images of Black people in the media. King’s standing as an icon and role model is appropriate. What is significant for the HBCU is its mandate of social and racial uplift, which is challenged by a cultural climate that encourages Black youth to pursue Dr. King’s fame—which can easily be misappropriated as wealth to the media illiterate—rather than to replicate his commitment to social justice or his cultivation as a race leader while attending Morehouse. West (1993) speaks directly to the historical interrelationship of materialism and HBCUs:

The Civil Rights Movement permitted significant numbers of black Americans to benefit from the American economic boom…. Like any American group achieving contemporary middle-class station for the first time, black entrée into the culture of consumption made status an obsession and addiction to stimulation a way of life. For example, well-to-do black parents no longer sent their children to Howard, Morehouse, and Fisk “to serve the race” (though often for indirect self-serving ends), but rather to Harvard, Yale, and Princeton “to get a high paying job” (for direct selfish reasons). (p. 36)

More recent research adds some context and credence to West’s claim by suggesting that access to financial resources impacts the college choices of African American students, particularly for students attending HBCUs who are most often young people from working class and low socio-economic backgrounds (Gasman et al. 2010; Smith 2009). Moreover, this generation’s individualistic ethos could have two direct effects on HBCUs. First, it may affect the decision making process of some Black students and parents who, when trying to determine whether to attend an HBCU, may choose a historically White institution (HWI) in the hope that this decision will lead to greater professional and economic advancement. Although research suggests that Black students who attend HBCUs do just as well as those who attend HWIs, it is possible that the uninformed could be swayed to choose an HWI based on faulty perceptions. Second, in the hopes of acquiring fame or wealth, some Black students may be influenced to select majors and vocations that promise greater financial gain over service oriented professions. More empirical research is needed to explore these topics. Still, these dynamics certainly have the ability to influence the survival of African Americans as potential educators, since the compensation educators receive rarely reflects the amount of service rendered. Yet, Du Bois’s admonition is a fitting reminder to all stakeholders of HBCUs:

Stress[ing]…education for social contribution and rejection of vulgar careerism rooted in the lone and passionate pursuit of money is especially relevant. Our purpose is not to simply create moneymakers, but to cultivate men and women capable of social and human exchange on a larger more meaningful scale, men and women of culture and social conscience, of vision and values which expand the human project of freedom and development rather than diminish and deform it. (as cited in Karenga and Karenga 2007, p. 23)

Enter to Learn, Depart to Serve

From the first time I drove through the main entrance of Oakwood University, I have always been captivated by the mantra engraved on the front pillars, “Enter to Learn, Depart to Serve.” This noble coinage is not endemic to my alma mater; in fact, Winston-Salem State University has an identical motto, and most other HBCUs began with a similar mission. For example, Tennessee State University’s motto is “Think, Work, Serve;” Clark College’s is “Culture for Service;” and Howard University’s is “Truth and Service.” The challenge is that today’s students live in a cultural climate where capital advantage is increasingly privileged over community accountability. The narratives offered by participants in this study are consistent with this claim. For example, McKenzie, a 17 year old first-year student and elementary education major, described her generation this way: “We are definitely materialistic. It’s all about the money. That’s all they [her peers] care about.” Jason, a first-year student who is considering a career in physics or teaching, echoes McKenzie’s sentiments. He states, “I think we [our generation] is super materialistic. It seems like everyone defines themselves by what they own. On campus, I haven’t seen it as much. [Back at home], I saw it a lot.” It is not just first-years who recognize the materialism of today’s students. Upperclass students are also critical of materialistic tendencies of “the Joshua generation.” Helena, a recent graduate of an HBCU who is now working towards a master’s degree in education at another HBCU, states, “We are very materialistic. We have a tendency to be a lot more shallow [than previous generations]. Everything about us is quick and in a hurry. Everything for us is immediate.” Despite the self-centered idiosyncrasies of “the Joshua generation,” participants’ narratives suggest that the efforts of stakeholders at their HBCU to instill the importance of their school’s mission and motto are not in vain. Darius is a senior science education major who has embraced the mantra of community service. He states:

To me it’s sort of selfish if you think you can get your education and leave without trying to benefit your own people from what you’ve learned from your experiences. I plan to depart to serve. I want to be out in the community trying to show Black men that a road block doesn’t have to stop you from doing what you want to do in life. I just learned that if you’re not trying to give back you are taking away from your community. If you have the opportunity to go to college—which many others don’t get a chance to do—it feels worthless and selfish (to fail to give back).

Students’ perceptions of success are also being impacted by their HBCU experiences and the emphasis on service. By revealing some of the specific characteristics of her undergraduate experience, Helena’s narrative is particularly informative. She declares:

I define success as being able to do what you want to do and being happy about it. It’s not necessarily about the money aspect. Getting to Oakwood I learned that it is more than a career, a job… it’s more than the letters behind your name. When I came to Oakwood it was about getting a job, but now I see things differently. I found that they [professors] care. They care about who you are as a person. They are supposed to teach you but when you find that people are invested in who you are, that makes a big difference: just knowing I have the ability to reach out and they [professors] will reach back. To know that people [at Oakwood] are praying for you… if you’re having a rough day you can say that. At Oakwood, “Enter to learn and depart to serve” is the first thing that you hear and see. You wake up and you’re a junior and you’re like, “Oh man, that is me. I am about to serve.” When you leave here, it’s your duty to serve.

For HBCUs to continue to fulfill their missions, stakeholders at HBCUs must continue to empower students to resist the materialistic and individualistic spirit of this generation, which encourages students to simply enter to learn so that they might depart to serve themselves. The counter-narratives of the participants in this study are powerful and important testaments to the work of resistance that can be enacted on HBCU campuses. Clearly, not all students are being swept into the cultural tide of materialism. The narratives reveal that as a result of the lessons being transmitted at Oakwood University, there are students who are resisting society’s promotion of capitalistic gain and self-worship. More than this, the participants in this study see the profession of teaching as an ideal way to enact their community service. Though the results of this study do not allow me to generalize about all students at Oakwood University or other HBCUs, it does appear that the HBCU is a space where resistance to undesirable cultural norms is encouraged and a renaissance of personal values around notions of success and service can be experienced. Still, materialism is not the only cultural norm to be challenged. Traditional and damaging conceptualizations of Western masculinity are cultural conditions to be accounted for and resisted.

Typical—Yet Damaging—Notions of Western Masculinity

In spite of the existence of other forms of masculinity, Western masculinity, as a destructively aggressive and highly sexualized posture, is the dominant and commodified brand of masculinity to which many men subscribe (Kimmel 2006). Typically, Western masculinity is characterized as violent, domineering, and competitive (Hatty 2000; Holliday 1978; Kivel 1992; Segal 1990; Straus et al. 2002; Whitehead 2002). The emphasis on the development of large and intimidating male bodies is consistent with the historically ingrained stereotypes of men as non-communicative brutes (Connell 2005; Kimmel 2006). Accordingly, Bowker (1998) maintains 90% of violent acts are committed by men, while Whitehead (2002) highlights the systemic connections that “men’s violence towards…women…is frequently codified through everyday cultural practices and legal systems, thus rendering such behaviours ‘invisible’ other than to sustained (usually feminist) enquiry” (p. 35). It can be argued that Western masculinity, as manifested in the violent, domineering, and competitive tendencies, is a destructive construct. Men—within and outside of Black communities—are being socialized to embrace a debilitating form of masculinity that glamorizes and invariably leads to the oppression and death of others.

Other characteristics of Western masculinity include an emphasis on ownership, money, materialism and possession of things (i.e., property, cars) and people (particularly women) (Connell 2005; Whitehead 2002). The maintenance of distinct roles and gendered biases (i.e., men work outside of the home, while women who choose to work outside of the home often do so for less money than men), as well as an emphasis on control through sexual and physical prowess are all common characteristics of Western masculinity (Kimmel 2006; Whitehead 2002). In many ways, these characteristics create, support, and perpetuate the emphasis on the male body, which is often assessed based on the size of the muscles (Beynon 2002; Connell 2005; Kimmel 2006). All of these dynamics frame how men define success and failure – those who do not measure up are often labeled and libeled as effeminate, unsuccessful, or unmanly (Connell 1987; Gause 2008).

Specifically, men of color are harmed by the tendency to conflate Western with White. For most people, the term Western masculinity conjures up a particular masculine image. Much like westernized conceptions of Jesus, the default image of Western masculinity is also rooted in Eurocentric traditions. White is supposedly right. Thus, the embedded assumption is that the ideal man, Western or otherwise, is white, middle-class, heterosexual, Christian, and nondisabled (Johnson, 2006). Typical—yet damaging—notions of Western masculinity reflect powerful and pervasive cultural norms that impact spaces and people in various settings. These dominant characteristics and expectations of Western masculinity encroach upon Black masculinities, which invariably affect the cultural climate of Black communities and the work of HBCUs as sites of resistance.

Black Masculinities as Extensions of Western Masculinities

Black masculinities have been westernized to the extent that representations of Black masculinities can both subvert and support dominant masculinities. These dynamics are rooted in the way Black masculinity has been historically co-opted and transmitted in Western social institutions, like schools. The masterscript on Black men and Black masculinities in a Western context have a long and disturbing history that has been carefully crafted since the forced arrival of enslaved Africans on this continent. Krishnaswamy’s (2002) discussion of the economics of colonialism reveals the interconnections between the oppression of non-dominant peoples and institutional dynamics, the use of physical features to make judgments of mental and emotional aptitude, and the contemporary ramifications of these practices. Krishnaswamy (2002) declares:

If masculine beauty was an expression of white European racial, moral and cultural superiority, ugliness was evidence of nonwhite, non-European inferiority. The disorderly appearance attributed to diverse groups of foreigners and social misfits referred not only to physical deformity, but it also implied lack of mental discipline and emotional moderation. Modern medicine and psychology played a powerful role in solidifying the link between body and soul through the very process of designating and defining as diseased those who did not fit in. (p. 293)

More recently, documents and deficit doctrines, such as Daniel Moynihan’s (1965) report, The Negro Family: The Case for National Action, have served as vehicles for establishing and maintaining Black male stereotypes of apathy and abuse (Dodson 2007). The pathologizing and systematic regulation of Black men (and women) has exacerbated the transition of Black people from chattel to citizens. Yet, it is the dominant views about Black men that prove especially problematic and persistent, particularly in social institutions (like schools), where Black men are conspicuously absent from teaching and administrative positions. Unlike the Black woman who, in spite of her horrific experiences at the hands of systematic oppression, is believed to have maintained her parental instincts, the Black man’s instinctual capacities have been misappropriated and his intentions misunderstood; he must not only overcome the dominant ideology that paternal instincts (for any man) are void of the capacity to nurture, but he must also prove that his instincts (as a Black man) are not animalistic, anarchic, and anti-intellectual (Dodson 2007; Ogbu 2007; Perkins 2000).

Brandon’s Narrative: Resistance and Masculinity at an HBCU

Brandon is a proud graduate of an HBCU who recalls his undergraduate experience with enthusiasm. His personal account offers a counter-narrative to common ideologies about Black man. In fact, Brandon believes that his HBCU experience helped him to successfully transition to manhood and traverse one of his most difficult personal challenges: becoming a teenage father. His narrative is worthy of extended consideration. He states:

To make a long story short, I had a daughter [and] that changed the trajectory of my life. I became a pariah because I [was] 18 with a child. So my paradigm changed from being the wonder boy to being a guy that “oh you’re just like the other guys.” I had to then change my whole frame of reference… [and] based on my moral fiber, my daughter became everything. I threw myself into her, and she became my reason for living. And I used that experience to motivate me to excel in school [at Oakwood]. My grades turned around, and I started doing phenomenally well in school. The good thing about going to Oakwood College [now University], going to a historical black college, [is] it gave me a spiritual and cultural grounding.

Not only did Brandon develop as a man who is devoted to his family, but his words are very similar to Helena’s narrative of resistance to materialism and commitment to service. He continues:

I would not have probably survived at another institution, not because I was not academic, but I needed the rubrics around me that made me see education as more than a tool to make money. Oakwood gave me a skill set to make myself a servant in life. And most of the guys at the time that I associated with at Oakwood were very similar in their thought processes. My peer group was academically inclined, they were all lady’s men, but they were focused on Christ and focused on education. The peer pressure was “hey pull your grades up,” and the peer pressure was to succeed. So, being competitive by nature, I wanted to be in a peer group of people that were achieving. So positive peer pressure actually worked, and it actually pulled me through because the cats [guys] I was associated with were hardcore. Most of them even today are captains of industry, doctors, lawyers, and entrepreneurs, but at college they set the bar high for me and so did I. I came back [home] and got very stuck in [involved] at my church, and very stuck in [involved in] my community.

Brandon’s narrative offers valuable insights into ways that the HBCU environment can nurture Black men into identities that challenge traditional notions of masculinity. In Brandon’s case, resistance meant being present and active as a father and serving his community. In addition to his fulltime employment, Brandon presently volunteers as an instructor in a GED community school. When questioned about what he learned about manhood, Darius, another participant, claims that he learned about “taking responsibility, how to stand on your own two feet, and treating women how they should be treated—as queens.” Darius states, “I learned at Oakwood University that a boy is someone who calls women any name and doesn’t respect them. I learned respect for self and respect for others.” Based on the narratives of the participants in this study, the HBCU can be a place where Black men can be and are equipped to resist typical notions of Western masculinity and stereotypical perceptions of Black men. The resistance of Black men to these damaging notions of masculinity is vital to the health of Black communities and Black families. Stakeholders of HBCUs who are committed to continuing the important work of resistance to oppression and social uplift must deal with issues of gender, class, and racial diversity, especially since Dr. King’s vision transcended gender, race, and class. Notably, how Black women construct and navigate identities at HBCUs—though beyond the scope of this study—are gender-related topics worthy of continued study (see Cole and Guy-Sheftall 2003; Gasman 2007b; Gregory 1995; Jackson and Nunn 2003; Lundy-Wagner and Gasman 2011; Perna et al. 2009). Moreover, HBCUs must engage students in what Cooper and Gause (2007) describe as “collaborative activism—a democratic education approach that unites educators and learners in raising consciousness and rupturing the status quo in order to socially deconstruct, politically transform, and share a sense of hope” (pp. 214–215). Notably, spirituality and the Black church have been means by which Black people have historically deconstructed social realities, challenged political structures, and shared a sense of hope. For these reasons, the impact of spiritual malefaction must also be considered in order for HBCUs to continue to be relevant spaces of resistance.

Spiritual Malefaction

The Black community has been a people whose oppressive circumstances have served as the collective crucible for active spirituality, authentic faith, and astute resistance (Cone 1997, 1999; Dantley 2005; Stewart 1999; West 1999). But over the last 40 years, there appears to have been a shift in priorities, as the pursuit of modern materialism has also created a culture where faith systems are plagued by nominal denominationalism and spiritual disinterest. There are those who would question if the Black church still serves as the primary incubator and bastion of Black spiritual, intellectual, and political leadership (Gause 2008; West 1993), and this shift invariably affects the climate of every other institution in the Black community, including the HBCU. Gause (2008) points out:

Black leadership is no longer mobilized through churches…. Many of today’s black youth are not active church members, because they have witnessed the hypocrisy of black leadership. Many have witnessed the message of prosperity as a form of depriving their single mothers of resources needed for the family. (p. 62)

Even as HBCUs stand as sources of resistance to the breakdown within the Black spiritual community through various clubs, campus organizations, and religious affiliations (Jackson and Nunn 2003; Jean-Marie 2008), it is necessary to note that the climate and culture of the wider community impacts stakeholders of HBCUs (Graham et al. 2009), and these factors have influenced the present shortage of leaders in the Black community. West (1993) accounts for the absence of quality leadership in the Black community by pointing to “the gross deterioration of personal, familial, and communal relations among African-Americans” (p. 36). As vital institutions in the Black community, HBCUs and the Black church cannot be disassociated from the deterioration in leadership that West speaks of. Arguably, in many respects, HBCUs have been damaged by the same blight of idol worship as the Black church: the worship of male leaders (i.e., pastors) has overshadowed the mission and movement of the church; this has resulted in the dilution of the collective voice and action of the ecclesia (the body of believers) who have allowed their power to be usurped by the paid, male pastorate. In order to prepare a new generation for a “new civil rights movement,” leaders and stakeholders in the Black community in general and Black institutions (i.e., the HBCU) in particular must continue to account for the idol worship of the past and resist the contemporary manifestations of idol worship in the present

Jomar’s Narrative: Resistance, Renewal, (Personal) Renovation

Jomar is a recent graduate of an HBCU who attended two HWIs prior to his attendance and successful completion of Oakwood University. He describes himself as a former gang member who entered the gates of Oakwood as a broken young man. After experiencing personal tragedy in the loss of a family member to violence, he found the environment of Oakwood to be a place of restoration and recovery. He gained far more than a degree at Oakwood; he learned to resist negative influences and gained a positive sense of self that was grounded in a spiritual rebirth experience. Jomar shares his compelling narrative:

No one can take the (Oakwood) experience from me. I feel valuable. I went there feeling empty. I leave feeling valuable. I feel that I’m worth something. Beyond the academics, I can now love and care for myself. When I came here I found a love for God and self. Oakwood and the campus was an environment [where I was] able to rehabilitate myself…and rekindle old flames [spiritually]. What was different about Oakwood was the atmosphere was more warm, the people were more lively, more activities, our Friday night [religious] service was more alive. At my other schools we had Friday night [religious] meetings, but it wasn’t considered cool to go. At Oakwood, everyone went [to the religious services] so just by going you heard something you needed to hear. That shaped me. At the other schools, you didn’t have the same spiritual emphasis.

Jomar’s life goals and perspective have also been impacted by his new outlook. In fact, his narrative reveals how his HBCU experience has helped him to resist notions of materialism, stereotypical notions of masculinity, and spiritual malefaction. He continues:

My life goals are to be a good man of God, a good leader, and a good father. Everything else is a bonus. You can have everything else and not be productive. [Prior to] my [spiritual] conversion experience, I went through a tragedy. [After this tragedy], I went back [to Oakwood] with more focus. My eyes were opened to the illusion of having a nice car or nice clothes and still being empty. I had those things [material possessions] [but] I didn’t feel good about myself; [they] didn’t make me happy. People looked up to me for the wrong reasons. I realized I needed to renovate myself…. I took time to find out who I was. [I learned how] to be able to stand when the pressure comes. To say I’m not doing that today—even if I did it yesterday. Yesterday is gone and I’m not doing it today.

Jomar’s narrative affirms that all is not lost! I believe HBCUs are sites where “personal, familial, communal relations” (West 1993, p. 36) are regenerated. Although HBCUs cannot replace the role of the church, I believe HBCUs must continue to be a locale for “serious strategic and tactical thinking about how to create new models of leadership and forge the kind of persons to actualize these models” (West 1993, p. 45). Surely, there are many conscientious people and effective programs on the campuses of HBCUs across this nation. What I am addressing here is the need for even greater intentionality and further research on how the unique socio-cultural dynamics of our culture may be impacting “the Joshua generation.” Stakeholders of HBCUs must continue to account for and resist the idolatrous tendencies of the past and present generations. The response to this call must be insistent; for there is no better place or time to empower young people to address the cultural breakdown that has allowed “the structural and institutional processes that have disfigured, deformed, and devastated black America” to go virtually unchallenged (West 1993, p. 45). I concur with West (1993) who further contends:

Quality leadership is neither the product of one great individual nor the result of odd historical accidents. Rather, it comes from deeply bred traditions and communities that shape and mold talented and gifted persons. Without a vibrant tradition of resistance passed on to new generations, there can be no nurturing of a collective and critical consciousness—only professional conscientiousness survives. Where there is no vital community to hold up precious ethical and religious ideals, there can be no coming to a moral commitment—only personal accomplishment is applauded. (p. 37)

Certainly, HBCUs have produced and continue to produce many Black leaders who are committed to the uplift of Black communities and wider society (Allen and Jewell 2002; Anderson 1988; Brown 1999, 2001; Brown and Davis 2001; Brown and Freeman 2004; Gasman 1999, 2001; Jackson and Nunn 2003; Jean-Marie 2008; Ricard and Brown 2008; Williamson 2008). What is most significant for this generation of leaders, however, is their capacity and commitment to responding to and resisting some of the unique characteristics of this age, namely: materialism, Western masculinity, and spiritual malefaction. HBCUs will continue to be at the forefront of this struggle.

Conclusion: I Have a Dream, I am the Dream?

Leaders of HBCUs must account for the confluence of an idolatrous and individualistic generation with the fact that the media has often misappropriated the legacy of Dr. King. Sadly, the full power of Dr. King’s legacy has been diminished by the reduction of his greatness to consumable sound bites, the dismissal of his activism on issues like health care and minimum wage that would probably get him called “socialist” nowadays (K. Edwards, personal communication, October 29, 2009), and our inability to empower young people to read his entire speeches. If students read Dr. King’s words in their entirety, they’d realize that his dream remains unfulfilled as long as inequity and inequality reign supreme; one man of color in the White House has not and cannot change that. In this respect, as I reflect on a flyer that I retrieved from a bulletin board in the school of education building of another HBCU, I urge caution in the manner in which we frame the contributions of Dr. King and President Obama. The flyer, which appears to be a sketch by a student and captures the images of both men side-by-side, is captioned, “I HAVE A DREAM: Martin Luther King 1968. I AM THE DREAM: Barak Obama 2008.” While this flyer does not necessarily reflect the position or beliefs of the entire student body or the institution from which it was retrieved, the caption expressed in the flyer does reflect a common sentiment held by many in the Black community (and the wider society) at the inception of President Obama’s reign—that is, that Dr. King’s dream was fulfilled by the election of Barak Obama. How these perceptions have shifted or remained static in the time that has lapsed since the historic events of 2008/09 is beyond the scope of this discussion. What is significant is that the flyer is, in many ways, representative of “the Joshua generation’s” capacity to idolize individuals and individual accomplishments. Jomar’s narrative is again insightful. While his initial response after viewing the flyer is informative and representative of the initial responses of other participants, his ambivalence while attempting to clarify his remarks after my further questioning is telling about the tensions that this generation of students face. He states:

When I look at the picture of King and Obama [with the inscription, “I have a dream, I am the dream”], I see freedom and change. I see one man’s vision of something to achieve and another man who has shown us it is possible to make changes that people think are impossible. So I see one man that had a dream and one man that became a dream. So I think that the dream is fulfilled.

After further probing by the researcher, Jomar amends his initial remarks. He clarifies:

To be completely honest, I don’t feel [King’s dream] is fulfilled completely. Because I don’t feel we are all equal. There’s still an imaginary line there. They make it seem like we’re equal but we’re not. I don’t think what we are today is what he [Dr. King] visualized. He wanted us to be on the same plane. I think King wanted us to be all equal…to be one, on the same page, with equal opportunity and equal chances.

While Jomar questions the notion that the dream has been fulfilled, he is clear about his role as a servant leader working towards King’s dream. He continues:

My role in fulfilling King’s dream is to look out for my brothers. Help my brothers along the way, so we don’t get lost to the imaginary lines. We can dig down deep to go beyond the lines. This is something I want to do—to help diverse brothers, all humans.

Stakeholders of HBCUs must continue to equip this generation of youth with tools and ideologies of resistance in order to spearhead the institutional critique and transformation that can lead to the true fulfillment of the dream.

While my hope for this manuscript is that it would give pause for thought, discussion, and action in addressing the complexities faced by stakeholders and advocates of HBCUs who also seek to continue to effectively prepare educators and students for service and social uplift, I recognize that many questions still abound—including how might we tangibly tackle the issues raised in this paper. The exact course forward may not by fully clear, though I am optimistic about the possibilities. What is clear is that the twentyfirst century will be far different from any age in human history. This generation of African Americans will grow up having had a man of color as the leader of their country, and some have prematurely proclaimed that race is no longer an issue. Yet, if we are really going to prepare an “enlightened youth” and engage in a “new civil rights movement,” HBCUs must continue to give their students the tools to critique systems that can reduce the civil rights movement to one man and elevate another Black man to the highest position in the world—all without ever addressing systematic and systemic oppression. I concur with Fanon, who asserts, “each generation must… discover its mission, [and then] fulfill it or betray it” (as cited in Karenga and Karenga 2007, p. 22). HBCUs play a crucial role in this process. Still, it is significant to note that resistance in this generation will require HBCU stakeholders to be even more attentive to the media’s messages of materialism, to critically assess how gender is impacting of the roles and experiences of women and men in the Black community, and to recognize the need “for people of color to regain their spiritual and moral compass” (Bonilla-Silva 2006, p. 241). Herein lies our hope of reaching the Promised Land.