There are three ways in which one can deal with an injustice. (a) One can accept it without protest. (b) One can seek to avoid it. (c) One can resist the injustice non-violently. To accept is to perpetuate it.

—Bayard Rustin

Dear administrators, faculty, and staff of Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs):

Black queer and trans* students are not waiting for your permission to exist. They are organizing, resisting, and building liberatory futures. The question is not whether they are ready. The question is whether you will join them or allow your silence to erase them. In 2025, as the United States endures a second Trump administration, HBCUs stand at a crossroads. The federal government’s symbolic support for HBCUs, through executive orders and empty promises, contrasts sharply with its assault on DEI, gender-affirming care, and HIV research. These attacks endanger Black queer and trans* students, particularly as canceled research grants and stripped health protections disproportionately affect already marginalized communities.

Still, HBCUs are not powerless. For nearly 150 years, they have served as sites of resistance: educating and empowering many of the civil rights movement’s most prominent leaders, who organized protests, led sit-ins, and challenged segregation across the United States. Today, then, their leaders and communities must act with similar urgency.

This essay calls in HBCUs to recommit to Black queer and trans* inclusion: lifting recent progress and offering strategies rooted in radical love, grassroots leadership, and collective (un)learning. While HBCUs did not engineer the oppressive structures that shape society—systems entrenched in white supremacy, cisheteropatriarchy, and anti-Blackness—they are not above accountability. Too often, HBCUs have chosen to mirror these systems rather than dismantle them. Yet, many of these same institutions have failed to affirm Black queer and trans* students. For example, an openly Black queer civil rights leader, Bayard Rustin, was an HBCU alum who has been routinely ignored despite his pivotal role. Analogously, today’s students are often erased, even as they powerfully contribute to campus life and the broader struggle for justice.

The Trump administration continues to abandon communities of color and queer and trans* people, choosing instead to exploit individuals in these communities for political and economic gain.

Black queer and trans* students often face a painful contradiction at HBCUs: embraced for being Black but pushed to the margins for their gender and sexual identities. Respectability politics and conservative cultural norms—often rooted in the Black church’s historical influence—continue to diminish queer and trans* lives. At Morehouse College, for example, a now rescinded 2009 “Appropriate Attire Policy” sought to ban students from wearing feminized clothing at institutionally sanctioned events. Elsewhere, policies and practices still force students into binary gender roles (e.g., the royal court, single-gender residential halls, and gender-policing dress code policies). Still, progress is visible. Savannah State and Norfolk State have introduced gender-inclusive housing. Many HBCUs now offer access to PrEP and sexual health education. Programs like the Human Rights Campaign’s HBCU Peer Educator Program demonstrate growing institutional and external investment in HIV prevention and student leadership. This is meaningful work, but the transformation is far from complete.

The Trump administration continues to abandon communities of color and queer and trans* people, choosing instead to exploit individuals in these communities for political and economic gain. So, in the face of federal inaction, here’s how HBCUs must decide to resist with intention:

1. Embody a Radical Love and Care Ethic: As Darnell Moore reminds us, Black radical love is a commitment to collective care, rooted in mutual responsibility. It is not theoretical. It is engaging in continuous action. It is a protest. It is protection. Practicing radical love means showing up for Black queer and trans* students in concrete ways in our classrooms, offices, programming, and policies. Radical love requires us to confront how we cause or enable harm. It demands more than tolerance; it calls for profound affirmation and accountability. At HBCUs, this ethic must guide every decision: how we build community, respond to violence, or reimagine traditions. If we genuinely believe that none of us are free until all of us are free, we must make Black queer and trans* lives central—not conditional—to our visions of liberation.

So, how will you practice radical love today? And what would it mean for your campus to prioritize—not merely include—Black queer and trans* students?

2. Commit to (Un)Learning: HBCUs must reject narratives—rooted in white supremacy—that cast queerness as deviant or divisive. Far-right movements are weaponizing misinformation to erase queer and trans* lives, especially those of color. This includes rhetoric suggesting queerness is a threat to Black masculinity or a Western imposition on Black communities. These myths are not just harmful—they are tools of oppression.

(Un)learning means letting go of the master’s tools and embracing liberatory knowledge. It means replacing checkbox DEI trainings with brave, intentional spaces that center queer and trans* voices and foster authentic growth. Brave Space gatherings, for example, can provide transformative opportunities for dialogue, learning, and collective action. These are not one-off workshops. They are part of a broader culture shift that says: We will not ignore our queer and trans* family. We will learn. We will grow. We will fight together.

3. Lead and Transform from Where You Are: Institutional change does not always start at the top. Often, it begins with everyday people choosing to lead from their current position. Faculty can build inclusive classrooms by honoring names and pronouns, as well as incorporating queer and trans* scholarship. Staff can advocate for inclusive health resources and housing options. Students can form coalitions, organize campaigns, and demand equitable policies. Administrators can dismantle outdated, gendered traditions, such as royal courts, and ensure that campus policies affirm all identities. Partnerships with queer and trans* organizations—local, state, and national—can help fill service gaps. HBCUs can also collaborate, sharing high-impact practices and building regional networks committed to Black queer and trans* liberation.

This work is not limited to a single office or role. Inclusion is everyone’s responsibility.

In closing, when we lead from where we stand—with radical love and a commitment to (un)learning—HBCUs can become havens of affirmation, not exception. This work is not optional; it is essential to the liberation of Black people. By standing firm in love and justice, HBCUs can once again demonstrate to the world what it means to transform adversity into collective strength. We have done it before. We can and must do it again.

Sincerely,

Jarrel Johnson