In just three decades, people of color will become the new majority in education and workforce settings, but systemic barriers and poorly shaped policies have led to persistent inequities between racial and ethnic groups in educational attainment.
Check out our young adult recommendations and stories below that can help students of color access college, complete a degree, and manage student loan debt.
You Cannot Graduate Alone: Recommendations for Supports for Students of Color
With a growing number of students of color attending institutions of higher education, there is an urgent need for comprehensive and structured support services to ensure their success and well-being. Under the new administration, support for students of color on campus is under political scrutiny, leaving many students concerned about their ability to complete their collegiate education. Institutional leadership, faculty, and staff are questioning how best to support their students. This phenomenon is not new; I began to notice these needs as a freshman in college at a predominantly white institution in 2016.
As an African immigrant to the United States, I faced several barriers and challenges in pursuing higher education. As a legal resident yet non-citizen, I did not qualify for many institutional merit-based scholarships. My parents, unfamiliar with the U.S. college application process, left me—the eldest of three children—to navigate it alone. Despite my lack of interest in the field, they also expected me to pursue a STEM career, shaping my high school education accordingly. This limitation hindered my ability to explore other career options, further complicating my pursuit of higher education in a field I truly enjoyed. Consequently, I began my freshman year unsupported, lost, and unhappy.
However, support programs enabled me to complete college and enjoy my experience despite the problematic home environment that shaped my college years. As a scholar in the Undergraduate Success Scholars program, I received peer-to-peer mentoring from first-generation and racial/ethnic minority students, career and academic counseling, networking opportunities, and personal and professional development support. This program helped me raise my GPA from 2.30 to 3.50, gain the confidence to change my major, learn about student debt management, and become a campus leader.
The Multicultural Center was not just a venue for cultural events—it was a sanctuary where students of color could share experiences and receive guidance from faculty and staff of color. This center introduced me to lifelong friends who helped me navigate challenging coursework and supported me in my darkest moments. It provided me with my first job in college. It quite literally saved my life when my supervisor encouraged me to seek counseling after a suicide attempt and hospitalization due to inadequate self-care. Furthermore, the center helped me discover my passion for public speaking, leading to a $500 scholarship from an oratorical competition. Without these programs, I would not have graduated.
Despite these crucial support systems, I still noticed institutional gaps. The percentage of Black students at my university declined from 5% to under 3% between my freshman and senior years. Black male students, in particular, faced alarming dropout and transfer rates. There was only one Black male fraternity on campus and a glaring lack of Black male faculty and staff. Efforts to establish a Black male mentorship group did not prevent declining enrollment. Since Black women are currently the highest educated demographic in the U.S. while Black men remain among the least educated, the first recommendation is to establish Black male mentorship and scholarship programs focused on recruitment and retention.
Additionally, as an immigrant, my scholarship options were severely limited, making college affordability a challenge. Many first-generation programs do not account for immigrants whose parents earned their degrees abroad. For example, the college application process in Ghana differs vastly from the U.S. process. Despite experiencing many of the same struggles as first-generation American students, I did not qualify for such programs. The second recommendation is to broaden the definition of “first-generation college student” to include immigrants whose parents obtained their degrees outside the U.S.
Finally, students of color are at higher risk of depression and anxiety diagnoses in college, yet many avoid campus mental health resources due to cultural stigmas. Furthermore, campus counseling services often have excessive wait times. When I sought counseling following hospitalization, I had to wait two weeks for an initial consultation and another three weeks for an appointment. When I finally saw a counselor, she was culturally insensitive, suggesting I move out of my parents’ home without understanding that my financial constraints, my nonverbal autistic brother’s needs, and my mother’s declining health due to Lewy Body Dementia made that impossible. My final recommendation is threefold: improve language around counseling accessibility, reduce wait times by hiring more counselors and student-trainee therapists, and implement mandatory cultural sensitivity training for campus counselors.
Ensuring the success of students of color in higher education requires a commitment to structured support systems. By addressing these key recommendations, institutions can foster a more inclusive and equitable environment for all students to thrive.
Addo-Yobo, Annette, TX
The Cost
As a child, my family’s nickname for me was “The ER Child.” I suffered several concussions, swallowed a bottle of vitamin C, dislocated my arms multiple times, battled numerous infections, endured a case of scarlet fever, and faced many other ailments growing up. Most of these were my own doing, resulting from my adventurous and often reckless approach to life. I climbed trees, played in the mud, and fenced with my siblings using sticks—just a few examples of my daily activities. Throughout all of this, I took health care coverage for granted. I assumed doctor’s appointments were free and that my parents’ only concern regarding my health was whether I would heal—not how they would afford it.
Why would I think any differently? My public school education never covered the crucial topic of health care coverage. When I aged out of my parents’ insurance, I suddenly found myself scrambling to learn how to navigate the system while balancing graduate school and work. It wasn’t until I participated in the Young Advocates Program through Young Invincibles that I received my first comprehensive look at navigating health care. After a year without coverage, I could finally enroll in Medicaid. Without this government-subsidized health care, I wouldn’t have been able to afford insurance at all. Even now, I live in constant fear of an accident that could upend my life—not just physically, but financially as well.
I am far from the little kid who fell out of trees because I can no longer afford the cost of a physically adventurous life. Driving feels precarious considering what an accident would cost compared to my income. No one should have to live in fear of the financial consequences of seeking medical care. That is why I am calling on my representatives to fight to protect Medicaid and advocate for health care literacy education in public schools. Every person deserves to understand their health care options and have access to the coverage they need.
Catanzariti, Eva, TX
Manspreading: Intersectionality within Higher Education
Higher education claims to be a space for learning, growth, and inclusion, yet for students like me, it often reinforces exclusion. My existence is politicized, my identity is dissected, and my presence is questioned. Diversity is often performative, and representation without real support is meaningless.
On campus, microaggressions are routine. A Black peer once picked me for a student panel, saying, “We need representation,” reducing me to my queer masculinity—as if my intelligence, leadership, and insights were secondary. The comment mirrored how my Blackness is degraded in white spaces, my identity reduced to appearance rather than substance. My refusal to conform makes me hyper-visible in exhausting ways, but it is also my silent protest.
Recent rollbacks on DEI initiatives have made higher education even more exclusionary. Safe spaces for marginalized students were eliminated. Cultural competency training for faculty was cut, leaving students of color vulnerable to ignorance and insensitivity. Conversations on systemic racism and gender inclusivity were dismissed as unnecessary. These were not just policy changes but attempts to erase narratives that challenged the status quo.
Systemic inequities in higher education demand more than performative diversity statements. They require real structural change. Reinstating DEI initiatives is not about political correctness but academic freedom, mental health, and economic mobility. Students need culturally competent counseling services that validate their lived experiences and support their educational success. They need financial aid policies that acknowledge generational wealth disparities. They need faculty trained to recognize the nuanced ways racism and homophobia manifest in academic spaces.
So, I continue to take up space in institutions that were never built for me. My existence is an act of defiance, and my presence is a testament to resistance. The future of education depends on institutions moving beyond tokenism and committing to real change.
Koba, Kaitlyn, TX
Turning Surviving into Thriving: The Realities and Futures of Higher Education for People of Color
As a descendant of enslaved Africans in America, my family has had limited opportunities to engage in higher education, leaving me without generational knowledge about college and how to navigate it. When I arrived at the University of Texas at Austin, I was wildly unprepared. I did not understand the mechanics of housing, financial aid, or college life in general. To make matters worse, my classes were all on Zoom, the campus was desolate, and I was left with an overwhelming sense of isolation and uncertainty.
Financially, I struggled. During my first two years, I paid for dorms I couldn’t afford, leading me to take out student loans. Unaware of my housing options, I mistakenly believed that my only choices were those provided by the university. Despite having access to food through the dorms, I still struggled to eat healthily and sufficiently. These challenges made it difficult to succeed academically. Even though I loved school, my ability to thrive as a student was in jeopardy because I didn’t know how to take care of myself, and I lacked support from both the university and those around me.
Fortunately, during my sophomore year, I came across a flyer for an event called “Queer Prom,” hosted by The Queer, Trans, Black, Indigenous People of Color Agency (QTBIPOCA). As a queer person myself, I saw this as a perfect opportunity to find the community I had been searching for. Little did I know that attending this event would change my college experience forever. Afterward, I applied to be an officer for QTBIPOCA, was accepted, and began my journey of providing my community with the resources we deserved.
QTBIPOCA hosts a myriad of events for QTBIPOC students, covering topics such as mental and sexual health, financial literacy, and navigating a predominantly white institution (PWI). These events provide specialized resources tailored to the experiences of QTBIPOC students and create a space where we can celebrate our community. Now, in my senior year, I serve as the director of QTBIPOCA and have witnessed firsthand how our work positively impacts students’ attitudes toward higher education, their community, and themselves. Given what this organization has done for me and many others, I see what needs to be done in higher education to ensure that students of color can persist in college without the burdens of isolation, poor mental health, and financial strain. I have dedicated much of my time to improving educational outcomes for my community, but I cannot do it alone.
Universities have a responsibility to address the needs of their students. They should provide unbiased cost breakdowns of both on- and off-campus housing options, including more affordable alternatives like cooperative housing, so students can make informed decisions. Additionally, for those who choose to live on campus, more nutrient-dense food options should be available at reduced prices. Universities should also implement campus-wide nutrition initiatives to educate students on fueling their bodies properly. Making nutritionists available as dorm staff and offering their services for free or at reduced costs through university health centers would significantly improve student well-being.
To address the mental health challenges faced by students of color, universities should employ multiple mental health care providers who specialize in treating POC and other marginalized communities. Students of color deserve validation of their experiences and should not have to bear the burden of educating their providers about systemic oppression. Equally important, professors should be required to undergo multiple training sessions on anti-racism, colonialism, implicit bias, and structural inequalities. These trainings would help faculty understand higher education’s role in perpetuating racial disparities and power imbalances. Professors are representatives of the university, and if they are not equipped to engage with a diverse student body, they do a disservice to themselves, their students, and the institution as a whole.
Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, universities must actively resist legislation that seeks to eliminate identity-focused organizations, courses, and majors. Programs like QTBIPOCA, ethnic and identity studies, and other affinity-based initiatives inspire students of color to enroll in and complete college. Without these resources, vulnerable populations will struggle to see themselves reflected in higher education. People of color should not be relegated to the margins; we deserve to be seen, heard, and provided with the necessary tools to close the longstanding gap in educational attainment.
Higher education has historically been a facilitator of racial hierarchy in America—a nation that prides itself on meritocracy and equality. It is time we hold our institutions accountable for the promises they have yet to fulfill.
McQueen, Kam, TX
The Importance of Community in Identity
For students of color to properly gain access to and thrive in higher educational institutions, they must be able to form and maintain a sense of community on campus. This is especially important for students of color attending predominantly white institutions. I have built a support system of people who identify in the same ways. Through the Queer Trans Black Indigenous People of Color Agency (QTBIPOCA) at the University of Texas at Austin, I have surrounded myself with individuals who understand my existence. QTBIPOCA has offered me a sense of belonging and educated me on navigating systems that were not created with people like me in mind.
Every year, the organization hosts its Queer Trans Leadership Institute (QTLI), providing queer students of color with a space to be educated on critical issues. Throughout the six-week session, QTBIPOC students meet weekly to discuss various topics. One week, students learn how to navigate the workplace, crafting compelling resumes and building strong LinkedIn profiles. Another week, the focus is on accessing adequate health care as queer people of color, featuring organizations like LifeWorks and Kind Clinic, which provide free STI testing and contraceptives. By the end of the six weeks, students have learned how to advocate for themselves and others safely and have gained valuable tools to jumpstart their careers.
I remember attending my first QTLI during my sophomore year of college after a particularly rough first year. I instantly felt a sense of relief—it was as if I could breathe for the first time since arriving at UT. That year, the first topic was Queer Art, and during a discussion section, QTLI attendees had the opportunity to share their thoughts. The feeling of raising my hand and openly expressing my ideas in a room full of peers was entirely new to me. I was so used to feeling a tangled knot of anxiety in my stomach whenever I had to speak in class, terrified that I would say something only to be misunderstood or invalidated. But I felt none of that anxiety in that room (formerly known as the Multicultural Engagement Center before SB17). I spoke, and people listened, understood, and resonated with what I was saying.
As a senior, I am unafraid to speak up and advocate for my ideas in class. Of course, the demographics on campus haven’t drastically changed since my sophomore year—more often than not, I am still the only person of color in my classes. But now, I know that my experiences and perspectives are valid. I am eternally grateful to organizations like QTBIPOCA that continue to persist despite the challenges they face. I firmly believe that students of color greatly benefit from having access to identity-based spaces, and I will continue to support and advocate for their presence on college campuses.
Sebba, Pluto, TX