In his 1947 essay The Purpose of Education, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., then a student at Morehouse College, warned that education untethered from morality risked becoming a tool of exploitation. “Education which stops with efficiency,” he wrote, “may prove the greatest menace to society. The most dangerous criminal may be the man gifted with reason, but with no morals.” His plea was for an education that balances utility with character, a system that equips students to make a living and to make a life worth living.
Almost 80 years later, we find ourselves asking similar questions about the direction of higher education, especially as recent policies and demographic shifts reshape the composition of our campuses. After the 2023 Supreme Court decision that ended race-conscious admissions, elite institutions have seen noticeable declines in Black student enrollment. Columbia’s Black student population dropped from 20% to 13%, and Harvard’s from 18% to just over 11%.
At the same time, we’re witnessing unprecedented growth at Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs). Alabama A&M just reported a record-breaking 2,157 first-year students, with 42% of them men, which defies national enrollment trends. Philanthropic efforts like MacKenzie Scott’s $1.2 billion in donations and Michael Bloomberg’s $20 million toward HBCU-charter school partnerships underscore a collective recognition of their value and potential.
This juxtaposition—declines at selective institutions and surges at HBCUs—reveals both progress and pitfalls.
The success of HBCUs is a testament to their enduring mission. These institutions were born out of exclusion and built for empowerment. They center community, belonging, and, crucially, the moral development that Dr. King saw as central to education.
However, the surge in HBCU enrollment should not be misread as a solution to systemic inequity. It is a symptom of it.
Studies continually show that talent is equally distributed, but opportunity is not. Race-neutral policies purport to provide more merit-based access. Unfortunately this approach often ignores the structural barriers Black students face. Performance-based funding models, for instance, have been linked to declines in Black enrollment at public flagship universities, as they prioritize GPA and test scores over potential and context. Pell Grant cuts have disproportionately impacted Black students in the South, where these resources are most needed.
We cannot allow moral abdication to masquerade as meritocracy.
In an ideal system, a student’s zip code or high school should not determine their future. Yet the dismantling of race-conscious admissions without robust, equity-centered alternatives risks sending us backwards. Diversity is not charity. It is a prerequisite for excellence, and a reflection of the American Dream.
The growing momentum behind HBCUs must be matched with renewed urgency to expand access across all institutions. This includes increased investment in K–12 outreach, counselor education, and awareness campaigns, especially in communities where over half of students say their counselors never mentioned HBCUs.
It also demands that we interrogate our metrics of success. Are we designing admissions systems and funding models to discover brilliance in all its forms? Or to reward privilege?
Dr. King’s vision calls us not just to open doors, but to widen the hallways of opportunity. It demands that we not only celebrate record enrollments at HBCUs but also recommit to the ideals that necessitated their creation: justice, access, and education as both a right and a moral endeavor.
In an era when higher education is under scrutiny and enrollment is in flux, we have a choice. We can settle for efficiency or we can reach for equity. We can preserve the status quo or we can, as Dr. King urged, pursue an education that cultivates “intelligence plus character.”
Let us choose purpose over performance, morality over metrics, and in doing so, create a system worthy of the students it serves.
