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Saturday, August 08, 2026

After Colleges Reject ‘Compact,’ Trump Officials Try a Letter, by Michael C. Bender and Alan Blinder, New York Times

Friends,

As covered by New York Times columnists, Michael C. Bender and Alan Blinder this letter from Secretary of Education Linda McMahon has to be understood in context.

The U.S. Department of Education's recent open letter inviting colleges and universities to restore public confidence through greater transparency, public commitments, and institutional self-assessment arrives wrapped in the language of partnership. On its face, few would object to these aspirations. Public universities exist to serve the public, and they should always be prepared to explain how they fulfill that mission.

The difficulty lies not in the request but in the vexed history that precedes it.

Trust is built through consistency between words and actions. Over the past several years, colleges and universities have confronted an unprecedented campaign of political intervention into higher education. 

Institutions have faced investigations, funding suspensions, threats to academic programs, restrictions on faculty governance, and efforts to influence what may be taught, researched, or discussed. Most notably, the administration's earlier proposal for a "Compact" with higher education sought to link federal research funding to ideological commitments that many universities concluded would compromise their independence. The overwhelming rejection of that proposal reflected a broad consensus that public accountability must never become political allegiance.

Against this backdrop, an open letter requesting voluntary declarations of institutional commitments cannot be viewed in isolation. It inevitably raises questions about purpose and intent. When trust has already been weakened by repeated attempts to expand political oversight of higher education, requests for public affirmations may reasonably be viewed with caution rather than confidence.

The issue extends beyond any single administration. It concerns the fundamental relationship between democratic government and institutions of higher learning. Universities are accountable to the public, but they are not extensions of the state. Their legitimacy depends upon their capacity to pursue knowledge wherever the evidence leads, to cultivate intellectual diversity rather than ideological conformity, and to protect inquiry from political pressure regardless of its source.

This distinction is especially important today. Throughout American history, periods of political polarization have often produced demands that universities align themselves with prevailing political agendas. Yet higher education serves democracy best when it maintains sufficient independence to question prevailing orthodoxies—including those advanced by government itself. Academic freedom, institutional autonomy, and shared governance were developed precisely to preserve that independence.

None of this suggests that universities are beyond criticism. Higher education has legitimate shortcomings that deserve serious public discussion, including affordability, student debt, public accessibility, governance, and the need to strengthen public confidence. Universities should welcome thoughtful critique and remain open to reform. 

But reform, my friends, loses its legitimacy when it becomes inseparable from efforts to centralize political authority over curriculum, research, hiring, admissions, or campus life.

Trust, therefore, cannot be restored through carefully worded letters or symbolic gestures. It emerges gradually through reciprocal respect. Government demonstrates its trustworthiness by honoring constitutional principles, protecting due process, respecting institutional independence, and refraining from using public resources to reward political compliance or punish dissent. Universities demonstrate theirs through openness, accountability, rigorous scholarship, and faithful service to the public.

Trust must move in both directions. Until governmental actions consistently reflect respect for the autonomy of America's colleges and universities, skepticism is not evidence of institutional obstinacy. It is a rational response born of recent experience and a necessary safeguard for the democratic—and democratizing—purposes that higher education was created to serve.

-Angela Valenzuela

After Colleges Reject ‘Compact,’ Trump Officials Try a Letter

August 3, 2026 | New York Times

The open letter from Education Secretary Linda McMahon fell far short of the attempt at a compact last year that dangled research money in return for embracing the Trump administration’s agenda.
Linda McMahon, the education secretary, signed the letter that asks every postsecondary institution in the nation to publicly state its commitments and planned changes “before the end of 2026.”Credit...
Tierney L. Cross/The New York Times

The Trump administration is making another push to persuade university leaders to address policies that it says have eroded trust with the American public, sending an open letter on Monday to college leaders asking them to respond to concerns over academic standards, admissions procedures and tuition costs.

The letter, signed by Education Secretary Linda McMahon, is a significant departure from an attempt last year to incentivize universities with a so-called compact that dangled easier access to research funding for schools that embraced the administration’s agenda. That proposal was widely rejected.

This time, the administration is not proposing any new legal or regulatory mandates and avoids any specific requests for eliminating protections for transgender students. Instead, Ms. McMahon asks every postsecondary institution in the nation to publicly state its commitments and planned changes “before the end of 2026.”

University presidents and governing boards are asked to address seven subjects — including free speech, foreign influence, artificial intelligence and academic rigor — and post the statements prominently on their websites.

Ms. McMahon’s letter, which does not include any funding threats, suggests that changes will improve academia’s reputation among American parents and students.

“The dilution of academic standards, opaque admissions policies and a domineering monoculture have badly eroded public trust,” she wrote, adding that “only full candor and transparency can begin to strengthen the bonds between higher education and the American people.”

It was not immediately clear how the nation’s thousands of colleges and universities would respond to Ms. McMahon’s letter. But Ted Mitchell, the president of the American Council on Education, which was not involved in talks with the government before the letter’s release, said he regarded the missive as “a tentative handshake” between the administration and academic institutions. He predicted a significant response.

“For many institutions, this is kind of a no-brainer — it’s a fill-in-the-blanks kind of thing if they want to do it,” said Dr. Mitchell, who noted that many of the topics Ms. McMahon asked schools to discuss had already been subjects of immense debate among education leaders.

Barbara R. Snyder, the president of the Association of American Universities, said she had engaged with administration officials before the missive’s release on Monday. She was joined in the discussions by the chairman of the group’s board, Chancellor Douglas A. Girod of the University of Kansas, and the board’s vice chairman, President Ronald J. Daniels of Johns Hopkins University.

In an interview, Ms. Snyder said that the three had “approached this opportunity in good faith” and that she believed the discussions could advance “a working relationship with the government.”

Ms. Snyder said she had communicated a four-word mantra to administration officials: “No carrots, no sticks.”

The new push comes about 10 months after administration officials, including Ms. McMahon, proposed a compact to try to pull schools into ideological alignment. The document called for, among other conditions, a cap on international enrollment; a tuition freeze; and consideration of “transforming or abolishing institutional units that purposefully punish, belittle and even spark violence against conservative ideas.”

It also called for institutions to pledge to adhere to the administration’s preferred definitions around biological sex. And it encouraged policies to “recognize that academic freedom is not absolute, and universities shall adopt policies that prevent discriminatory, threatening, harassing or other behaviors that abridge the rights of other members of the university community.”

But the effort collapsed after many of the schools the White House handpicked for feedback on the idea condemned the proposal in scathing terms.

A central grievance was the administration’s suggestion that it would give schools preferential treatment for federal funding in exchange for backing the compact’s ideas. That proposal collided with generations of history, practice and competition among universities to secure funding on the basis of merit. And since the idea emerged months after the administration sought to choke off billions in money to schools it disfavored, it deepened fears that the White House was eager to trade largess for loyalty.

The compact envisioned stiff financial penalties, such as the reimbursement of “all monies advanced by the U.S. government during the year of any violation,” for any participating university that the Justice Department alone deemed out of compliance.

Although a handful of small institutions volunteered to sign, only one of the name-brand schools that the government initially asked for feedback — the University of Texas — was sweepingly enthusiastic. Most others, in public and in private, sounded notes like Sally Kornbluth, M.I.T.’s president, who warned that the proposal included ideas “that would restrict freedom of expression and our independence as an institution.”

Confronted with rare, largely united resistance from higher education leaders, the administration backed down, and its ambitions for a celebratory event in the autumn faded. Administration officials insisted at the time that they were not surrendering on the idea of a reworked compact.

They also began inserting some ideas into policy. The State Department, for example, started prioritizing visa requests for students at schools that were under a 15 percent cap on international students enrolled in undergraduate classes that the compact had envisioned.

But Dr. Mitchell said he was pleased by “the change in tone” that Monday’s letter seemed to suggest. “It’s much less pugilistic than many things that have come out of this administration,” he said. “I think that it identifies several important positive principles — and it calls out a couple of things that we know we need to do better.”


Michael C. Bender is a Times correspondent in Washington.


Alan Blinder is a national correspondent for The Times, covering education.

Friday, August 07, 2026

New Restrictions Leave Some Texas Students Questioning Where They Belong in College

Friends:

I write to congratulate the Intercultural Development Research Association (IDRA) and Dr. Chloe Latham Sikes for producing a timely and much-needed study on the consequences of Texas' anti-DEI policies for college-bound students.

Their report, Staying on Course When Schools Steer Clear, gives voice to what many of us have been hearing since the passage of Senate Bill 17: students are questioning not simply where they can attend college, but where they will be welcomed, supported, and safe.

Drawing on the experiences of more than 90 Texans—including high school students, parents, educators, and counselors—the study finds that recent state and federal policy changes have diminished students' sense of belonging, reduced confidence in campus supports, complicated the work of college counselors, and heightened concerns about both physical safety and mental health. Particularly troubling is that some students are now removing Texas colleges from their application lists altogether because they no longer believe these institutions will support them.

These findings should concern everyone who cares about the future of our youth, and higher education itself, in Texas. When students begin to self-select out of public institutions—for which their families pay taxes—because they fear exclusion or lack of support, the state risks losing talented young people whose contributions are essential to our civic, economic, and intellectual future. This dynamic potentially places an added "tax," if you will for families who cannot keep their children in the state.

What makes this report especially valuable is that it does more than document the problem. It also offers practical, community-based resources and recommendations to help students navigate these new barriers and expand their pathways to college.

IDRA and Dr. Sikes have provided an important public service by grounding this debate in the lived experiences of Texas families rather than political rhetoric. At a moment when questions of belonging, opportunity, and educational equity are under intense scrutiny, this research offers evidence that policymakers, educators, and the public would do well to take seriously.

Congratulations to IDRA and Dr. Chloe Latham Sikes for this important contribution to the field and to the ongoing struggle to ensure that every student has a genuine opportunity not only to access higher education, but to thrive once they arrive.

-Angela Valenzuela





View as a webpage • July 9, 2026

New Restrictions Leave Some Texas Students Questioning Where They Belong in College

IDRA Study Participants Report Concerns About Support, Safety and Access Following Recent Diversity Policy Changes

(July 9, 2026 • San Antonio) Federal and state restrictions on diversity, equity and inclusion have created new barriers to college access for students across Texas, particularly those from underrepresented backgrounds.

IDRA’s two-year study provides an early look at how these policies are affecting high school students’ access to and success in college.

In 2023, Texas passed Senate Bill 17, which bans diversity, equity and inclusion offices at public colleges and universities. That same year, the U.S. Supreme Court significantly limited race-conscious admissions in higher education in the Students for Fair Admissions v. Harvard and UNC decision.

“All students deserve access to college and the support they need,” said lead researcher, Dr. Chloe Latham Sikes. “Participants in IDRA’s study report that recent policy changes compromised their sense of belonging in college, limited scholarship opportunities, diminished campus supports for historically marginalized students, and heightened concerns about physical and mental safety on college campuses.”

The report, Staying on Course When Schools Steer Clear: A Community-Based Study on the Impacts of Texas' Diversity Policy Change on High School Students and Tools to Expand their College Pathways, includes perspectives from more than 90 Texans across the state, primarily high school students. Students, parents, educators and college counselors reported that recent policy changes are affecting college access in several ways, including:

Counselors reported greater difficulty encouraging students to pursue college.
Students and counselors reported a diminished sense of belonging when exploring college options.

Educators and students expressed concern about reduced support for students transitioning to college, particularly first-generation students.
 
Parents reported heightened concerns about students' physical safety and mental health on campus

“[The impact of the policy changes] has made me more cautious… and also intentional about choosing a college that not only offers strong academics but also provides a safe and supportive environment for my daughter, especially in the absence of [diversity, equity and inclusion] programs.” – Parent

“I’ve definitely just taken at least five colleges off my list just based on the DEI [response and them] not supporting students whatsoever when it comes to this.” – High school student

One high school student said: “It has definitely changed my perspective on which colleges I'm even going to apply to, because I obviously don’t want to be on a campus that doesn’t support me.”

A parent shared that the new state law (SB 17) “has made me more cautious… and also intentional about choosing a college that not only offers strong academics but also provides a safe and supportive environment for my daughter, especially in the absence of [diversity, equity and inclusion] programs.”

The report offers recommendations for supporting students academically and addressing longstanding barriers to college access and affordability.

Drawing on community input, IDRA developed a Community-based College Access Technical Assistance package that includes three toolkits and more than 15 bilingual resources to support students’ transition to college.

To learn more about the study, contact Chloe Latham Sikes, Ph.D., at chloe.sikes@idra.org.Media contact: Thomas Marshall III, M.Ed., at thomas.marshall@idra.org.

Beyond the Bans – Changes Limiting Diversity, Equity and Inclusion Practices Compromise Student Opportunity
IDRA is an independent, non-profit organization. Our mission is to achieve equal educational opportunity for every child through strong public schools that prepare all students to access and succeed in college.

Reach Out To Us

IDRA
5815 Callaghan Road, #101
San Antonio, TX 78228
United States

Monday, August 03, 2026

The Rot We Refuse to Name: Montgomery, Alabama, and the Living Legacy of Racial Terror, by Angela Valenzuela, Ph.D., August 3, 2026

The Rot We Refuse to Name: Montgomery, Alabama, and the Living Legacy of Racial Terror

by

Angela Valenzuela

August 3, 2026

Legacy Museum link

Last week, during a weeklong stay in Montgomery, Alabama as part of the Legacy Summit hosted by the the African American Policy Forum (AAPF), I visited the Equal Justice Initiative’s Legacy Museum—an experience that unsettled me in ways I am still trying to process. I am deeply grateful to Dr. Kimberlé Crenshaw and for everyone at the AAPF—as well as to American Association of University Professors and the Center for the Defense of Academic Freedom, for making the visit possible for me and so many others.

Inside the museum, the history of racial terror ceased to feel like a distant past. It became immediate and embodied: a history carried in names, voices, stories, images, places, and lives, and one whose consequences remain painfully present. I encourage all to consider this opportunity next Summer or alternatively, to take some time off yourself to visit the various sites in Montgomery to get a complete experience.

While there, you must also visit the National Memorial for Peace and Justicethe Freedom Monument and Sculpture Park, and Montgomery Square. Together, these places illuminate the extraordinary decade of struggle that helped transform the United States and, without exaggeration, changed the world. They also remind us that the rights secured through that struggle are neither permanent nor self-sustaining. They are now being challenged by forces of religious nationalism that seek to reverse many of the democratic gains for which earlier generations sacrificed so much.

The museum itself stands on the sacred grounds of a former cotton warehouse where enslaved Black people were once held and forced to labor. From that location, it traces a historical continuum linking the transatlantic slave trade and enslavement to the violent overthrow of Reconstruction, racial terror lynching, Jim Crow, mass incarceration, and the contemporary criminal legal system. Personal testimony, archival evidence, art, and data reveal not a succession of unrelated injustices, but the recurring adaptation of racial domination as older systems were challenged and new ones took their place.

What struck me most forcefully was the depth and pervasiveness of the terror that Black people throughout the South endured. Terror was not limited to the moment when a person was seized, tortured, or killed. It was directed at entire communities. It instructed Black parents about what could happen to their children. It warned Black veterans against wearing their uniforms with pride. It threatened Black citizens who attempted to vote, acquire land, build businesses, organize workers, attend better schools, or insist upon being addressed with dignity.

Lynching was not simply spontaneous mob violence committed by a few extremists. It was a system of public terrorism intended to restore white supremacy after emancipation and suppress Black civil and political rights. The Equal Justice Initiative has documented at least 2,000 Black women, men, and children killed in racial terror lynchings during Reconstruction and more than 4,400 racial terror lynchings between 1877 and 1950. These acts were often committed publicly and with impunity, sometimes before crowds that included community leaders, elected officials, and children.

#JusticeForJamesCooper

I pause here to acknowledge James Cooper, whose body was found hanging from a utility pole in Metcalfe, Mississippi. Jay Fletcher first reported on the unresolved questions surrounding Cooper’s death in 2024 with the Delta Democrat-Times revisiting the case two years later (Fletcher, 2024, 2026). Kim Dockery (2026) has also drawn renewed attention to the case and the family’s continuing demand for answers. Although local authorities ruled Cooper’s death a suicide, his family and members of the community dispute that conclusion and are calling for a federal investigation.

Cooper’s story reminds us why the thousands documented by the Equal Justice Initiative cannot remain an abstraction. Each number represents a person with a name, a life, relationships, aspirations, and a community forced to live with the terror and injustice surrounding that person’s death. Naming him here is one small act of refusing the erasure upon which racial terror has long depended.

The museum makes clear that the targets of this violence were not only the people who were murdered. Terror entered homes, churches, schools, workplaces, and everyday relationships. It constrained movement, speech, aspiration, and political participation. It produced forced migration as Black families fled communities where the threat of violence had become unbearable. It also taught white communities that violence against Black people would be tolerated, celebrated, or ignored. Geez, isn't this what's getting "taught" anew with each unresolved case today like James Cooper's?

This is what makes the history so difficult to absorb. The cruelty was not incidental to the social order. It helped create and maintain that order.

Emancipation formally ended enslavement, but it did not eliminate the ideology that had justified it. The mythology of Black inferiority was transformed into new presumptions: that Black people were dangerous, criminal, incapable of citizenship, or naturally suited for subordination. During Reconstruction, violence sought to destroy emerging Black political power. After Reconstruction, lynching and Jim Crow enforced segregation and racial hierarchy. As the museum demonstrates, these narratives did not disappear with the end of legally mandated segregation. They became embedded in policing, prosecution, sentencing, imprisonment, and capital punishment.

After getting back to the hotel, I reached out to my husband, Emilio Zamora, professor emeritus of history at the University of Texas at Austin, to share the anger and sorrow I felt as I confronted this sustained history of racial terror and injustice. His response was that it represents the “rot” of this country

The word stayed with me.

By “rot,” he did not mean only a shameful chapter in an otherwise unblemished national history. He meant something deeper: a foundational moral and institutional decay that has been repeatedly covered over without being removed. The legal forms have changed, but the underlying presumption of Black guilt, dangerousness, and disposability has remained disturbingly resilient. 

Although this system is rooted most fundamentally in anti-Blackness, its logics have extended outward, shaping the criminalization and punishment of Latino men, immigrants, Indigenous people, and other racialized communities. Through policing, immigration enforcement, detention, incarceration, and unequal sentencing, these groups have also been cast as dangerous, foreign, or undeserving of full protection under the law. Recognizing these connections should not blur the distinct history of Black oppression; rather, it reveals how institutions built through anti-Black racial domination have generated broader systems of surveillance, exclusion, and punishment.

According to the Bureau of Justice Statistics, at year-end in 2023, 1,862 Black males per 100,000 Black male U.S. residents were serving sentences of more than one year under state or federal correctional jurisdiction—more than five times the corresponding rate for white males, 341 per 100,000 (Mueller & Kluckow, 2025). 

See Table 13 in Mueller & Kluckow (2025).

The Equal Justice Initiative aptly describes the modern death penalty as a direct descendant of racial terror lynching and links the terror era to racially biased capital punishment, excessive sentencing, wrongful convictions, and the continuing presumption of Black criminality.

This does not mean that lynching and imprisonment are identical. It means that institutions of punishment developed within a society that had never fully repudiated the racial assumptions underlying enslavement and racial terror. Black men who were once portrayed as threats requiring mob violence have continued to be treated as presumptively dangerous within schools, courts, prisons, and systems of capital punishment. The rope, the electric chair, the execution chamber, and the prison cell belong to different historical moments, but the Legacy Museum compels us to examine the ideas about race, guilt, innocence, and human worth that connect them.

Montgomery also reminded us that terror and resistance have always existed alongside one another. Black people did not merely endure this history. They built families, churches, schools, businesses, civic organizations, freedom movements, and cultures of extraordinary beauty and intellectual depth. They organized against slavery, challenged lynching, fought segregation, registered voters, contested wrongful convictions, and continued to demand that the nation honor principles it repeatedly denied them.

That resistance, however, should never be used to soften our understanding of the terror they endured and endure. Celebrating Black resilience without confronting the conditions that made such resilience necessary can become another way of avoiding the truth. The moral burden belongs not to those who survived oppression, but to the institutions and communities that produced it, benefited from it, tolerated it, or refused to remember it.

I left the Legacy Museum with a clearer understanding that racial injustice cannot be overcome through commemoration alone. Museums and memorials matter because they interrupt national amnesia. They restore names, lives, and histories that official narratives have—have long suppressed—and, in many cases, continue to suppress. So remembrance must also change how we understand contemporary policy and practice. It must shape how we approach policing, incarceration, sentencing, voting rights, education, housing, and the death penalty.

The rot persists whenever racial inequality is treated as accidental, whenever Black suffering is explained without reference to history, and whenever institutions celebrate true heroes like the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King or civil rights victories while continuously, if hypocritically, reproducing the conditions those movements opposed.

Our week in Montgomery left me grieving, but it also left me more convinced of the necessity of truth-telling. We cannot repair what we refuse to name. We cannot understand mass incarceration without understanding enslavement, Reconstruction, lynching, and Jim Crow. And we cannot claim to oppose racial terror while accepting institutions that continue to treat Black lives, and especially the lives of Black men, as inherently suspect or expendable.

The Legacy Museum asks the nation to do more than remember. It asks us to confront the rot—to expose it, remove it, and build institutions no longer dependent upon the degradation, terror, and punishment of Black people. To this, I will only add that it was a validating experience in terms of the policy battles we are fighting and have fought in coalition as Latinas and Latinos with the Black community.

Reference

Dockery, K. [@thicknpretty215]. (2026, August 3). James Cooper’s family continues to seek answers concerning his death in Metcalfe, Mississippi, and is calling for a federal investigation [Video]. Instagram. https://www.instagram.com/p/DbeCtzFB1nA/

Fletcher, J. (2024, May 8). Update on the James Cooper case. Delta Democrat-Times. https://www.ddtonline.com/crime-communities-local-content/update-james-cooper-case

Fletcher, J. (2026, August 3). One year later seeking justice for James. Delta Democrat-Times. https://www.ddtonline.com/communities-crime-local-content/one-year-later-seeking-justice-james

Mueller, D., & Kluckow, R. (2025). Prisoners in 2023—Statistical tables (NCJ 310197). U.S. Department of Justice, Bureau of Justice Statistics. https://bjs.ojp.gov/document/p23st.pdf

Black Male Lives Are Not Disposable: Confronting Gun Violence and Anti-Blackness, by Angela Valenzuela, Ph.D.

Black Male Lives Are Not Disposable: Confronting Gun Violence & Anti-Blackness

by

Angela Valenzuela, Ph.D.

August 3, 2026

Gun violence is a national public health crisis, but its burden is not shared equally. Black communities—and Black boys and men, in particular—experience a profoundly disproportionate share of the deaths, injuries, trauma, and grief.

A recent report from the Giffords Law Center to Prevent Gun Violence
documents the scale of this emergency. In 2024, one in every 143 Black men ages 18 to 24 in Philadelphia was killed or injured in a gun homicide or shooting. In Rochester, New York, the figure was one in 85. In Cincinnati, it was one in 81. Although most shootings are committed by a relatively small number of people, the consequences reverberate across entire families, schools, neighborhoods, and generations.

Black Americans die from gun violence at 2.6 times the rate of white Americans. Nearly 13,600 Black people die from gun violence each year, on average. Most strikingly, although Black boys and men constitute only about 6 percent of the U.S. population, they account for more than half of all U.S. gun-homicide victims.

Among Black men ages 15 to 44, homicide has been the leading cause of death for more than half a century. In the nation’s 20 largest counties, Black males ages 15 to 24 die from gun homicide at nearly 23 times the rate of white males of the same age. In 2024, more Black men ages 15 to 24 died from gun homicides than from unintentional injuries, suicide, heart disease, cancer, diabetes, police shootings, HIV, and numerous other leading causes combined.

These statistics require us to say something plainly: Black male life continues to be treated as disposable.

Gun violence Is also structural violence.

We must reject explanations that portray gun violence as evidence of a defect within Black culture. Violence does not develop in a historical vacuum. It is closely connected to racial segregation, economic abandonment, underfunded schools, limited health care, housing instability, unemployment, and the withdrawal of public and private investment.

Shockingly, according to the Giffords Center report, "One study showed that Black Americans are just as likely to be shot and killed by law enforcement if they are unarmed as white Americans who are armed. 39

Disinvestment is itself a form of symbolic violence

Disinvestment helps produce violence, and violence is then used to justify further disinvestment, surveillance, policing, and incarceration. Communities are denied resources, blamed for the consequences, and punished rather than supported.

Anti-Blackness operates through these institutional choices. It shapes whose neighborhoods receive investment, whose trauma receives treatment, whose children are protected, and whose deaths generate sustained public urgency.

The trauma extends beyond those who are shot.

Black boys and men are not only the people most likely to be killed or injured; they are also among those most likely to witness gun violence or live near it. More than half of Black youth in one study lived within a mile of a gun homicide. Children living within several blocks of a shooting were nearly 50 percent more likely to seek emergency mental health care.

Every death affects parents, children, partners, siblings, classmates, and neighbors. Black women and girls frequently carry much of the caregiving and emotional labor that follows, holding families and communities together while managing their own grief.

The rising rate of firearm suicide among Black youth is also alarming. Between 2020 and 2024, firearm-suicide rates increased by 26 percent among Black Americans and by 22 percent among Black people ages 10 to 24.

These figures remind us that Black boys and men must be recognized not only as resilient, but also as vulnerable human beings deserving care, protection, tenderness, and mental health support.

Fighting anti-Blackness across aur communities.

This is not a crisis that Black communities should be expected to solve alone. Anti-Blackness exists across institutions and across racial and ethnic communities, including communities that have themselves experienced racism.

It appears when Black masculinity is equated with criminality, when Black neighborhoods are treated as dangerous and disposable, when racial slurs and stereotypes go unchallenged, and when communities pursue their own advancement by distancing themselves from Black people.

Meaningful Black-Brown and multiracial solidarity requires more than symbolic declarations. It requires confronting anti-Blackness in our homes, organizations, schools, universities, churches, movements, and public policies.

Black boys and men should not have to be perfect, respectable, middle class, academically successful, compliant, or unarmed for their lives to matter. Their humanity is not conditional.

From punishment to prevention and healing.

Evidence-based gun-safety laws—including firearm licensing, waiting periods, and strong public-carry laws—can reduce homicides. These policies must be combined with sustained investments in community-led violence-intervention programs, mental health care, youth employment, quality education, stable housing, mediation, mentorship, and trauma recovery.

We must choose prevention over abandonment, healing over punishment, investment over criminalization, and solidarity over racial division.

Black boys and men deserve to grow older. They deserve safety, opportunity, joy, dignity, and belonging.

Black male lives are not disposable. Our policies, institutions, communities, and collective actions must finally demonstrate that truth.

Reference

https://www.ddtonline.com/communities-crime-local-content/one-year-later-seeking-justice-james



REPORT

Gun Violence in Black Communities
by ALEX NGUYEN & KELLY DRANE 

Giffords Law Center to Prevent Gun Violence | APRIL 14, 2026
Introduction
For decades, gun violence has taken a disproportionate and grueling toll on Black communities—leading to tens of thousands of gun deaths and hundreds of thousands of gun injuries. The impact of gun violence on this community is particularly devastating for young Black men. In 2024, one in every 143 Black men ages 18 to 24 in Philadelphia were killed or injured in gun homicides or shootings.1 In Rochester, New York, it was one in 85 young Black men.2 In Cincinnati, it was one in 81 young Black men.3

The vast majority of shootings in these cities—and in similar communities across the country—are perpetrated by a very small number of people.4 But the impacts of this violence are felt across entire communities, contributing to generations of trauma and collective grief that have disproportionately affected Black people.

Importantly, gun violence in Black communities is a direct cause and consequence of systematic, structural disadvantages. Research shows that high rates of gun violence seen today have been forged by past and present racial discrimination, including historic racial segregation and disinvestment.5 As gun violence plagues these communities, it leads to diminished economic opportunities and a lack of investment, creating a vicious cycle.6 This reality provides not only a strong impetus for action, but also a reminder that solutions to this problem must address the underlying inequalities driving gun violence in Black communities.

Trends in Gun Violence

Gun violence touches every community and every racial group in the United States, but none more so than Black communities. In fact, Black Americans die from gun violence at 2.6 times the rate of white Americans.7 On average, nearly 13,600 Black people die from gun violence each year.8

The total gun death rate among Black Americans declined 20% from 2020 to 2024.9 Yet, in recent years, different types of gun deaths among Black Americans have seen different dynamics. For example, the firearm suicide rate for Black people rose 26% between 2020 and 2024.10 However, both the Black firearm homicide rate and the Black unintentional firearm death rate fell over the same time period (28% and 12%, respectively).11 Additionally, police shooting deaths among Black Americans have remained at high levels over the time period.12

Firearm Homicide

The vast majority of gun deaths among Black Americans are gun homicides, and Black Americans make up the majority of gun homicide victims in the US. In fact, 81% of all Black Americans who die from gun violence die by gun homicide.13 Despite the fact that Black boys and men account for just 6% of the total population, they comprise more than half of all gun homicide victims.14

Recently, gun homicide rates across the country have fallen. Between 2020 and 2024, the gun homicide rate among Black people decreased nearly 28%—the second fastest decline among racial and ethnic groups.15 However, gun homicide rates for this population remain higher than rates seen in 2019, before the pandemic, and Black Americans still die from gun homicide at higher rates than any other group.16 Black women also experience higher rates of gun violence than any other group of women. In 2024 alone, the gun homicide rate among Black women was 5.3 times higher than the gun homicide rate among white women.17

The disparities in Black and white homicide rates are particularly stark in large cities and counties. Research suggests that roughly half of all gun homicides take place in just 127 cities,18 driving the elevated rates of homicides in these geographies. In the nation’s 20 largest counties, Black men ages 15 to 24 die from gun homicides at a rate nearly 23 times that of white residents of the same age.19 This disparity means that while roughly five out of every 100,000 young white men in these counties die from gun homicides, nearly eleven in every 10,000 young Black men are killed in such incidents.16

Homicide has been the leading cause of death for Black men ages 15 to 44 for more than half a century.20 More than 87% of homicides in Black communities involve firearms.21 These disparities are even more striking for young Black men: gun homicides are the leading cause of death and more than outstrip deaths from other leading causes of death combined.16 In other words, in 2024, more Black men ages 15 to 24 died in gun homicides than from unintentional injuries, suicide, heart disease, cancer, nonfirearm homicides, diabetes, congenital abnormalities, chronic respiratory diseases, police shootings, cerebrovascular diseases, anemias, sepsis, influenza and pneumonia, and HIV combined.16

Gun violence is also the leading cause of death for Black children, in large part because of the severe burden of gun homicides on this population. In fact, while gun violence only recently became the leading cause of death for all children in 2020, gun violence has been the leading cause of death for Black children since 2006.22 Eighty-four percent of gun deaths among Black children are gun homicides, and, in 2024, Black children were 16 times more likely to be killed in a gun homicide than white children.23

The toll of our nation’s gun violence epidemic, however, extends beyond gun deaths and injuries. The high rates of gun violence in Black communities lead to more exposure to gun violence. In fact, Black boys and men not only are the most likely victims of gun violence but also are exposed to gun violence most often.24 For example, more than half of all Black youth in one study lived less than a mile away from a gun homicide.25 These exposures traumatize communities, leading to and exacerbating mental health problems like elevated levels of psychological distress, depression, and suicidal ideation.26 In one study, researchers found that children who lived within a few blocks of a shooting were nearly 50% more likely to seek mental health care at an emergency department.27

While Black male youth are the most likely to experience gun violence and particularly gun homicides, entire communities grieve and mourn losses inflicted by firearm homicide. Black girls and women are often tasked with providing care in the aftermath of loss.28 One scholar describes this as a “living death” or a “…‘second killing’ of Black women and girls who are forced to relive the trauma of vicarious, violent loss at the hands of others.”16

Firearm Suicide

In the US, the vast majority of gun suicide deaths have involved white people: over the last 20 years, in fact, white people have comprised 81% of all suicide deaths.29 However, more recent data suggests a worrying trend. Suicide and gun suicide rates have risen for every racial and ethnic group in recent years, with Black people seeing a more rapid increase in such rates compared to white people. From 2020 to 2024, gun suicide rates increased just 9% for white people, but 26% for Black people.30

Gun suicide increases—and the racial disparities in these increases—are particularly pronounced for Black youth. From 2020 to 2024, the firearm suicide rate for Black people ages 10 to 24 rose 22%.31 During the same period, the firearm suicide rate decreased 2% for 10-to-24-year-olds overall.32 For white youth in this age range during this time, the firearm suicide rate decreased 7%.33

From 2020 to 2024, gun suicide rates increased just nine percent for white people, but 26% for Black people.

On average, more than 3,700 Black Americans die by suicide each year.16 Nearly 3 in 5 (59%) involve firearms.16 However, scholarship suggests that these numbers likely undercount the burden of suicide in this community. Black Americans face numerous barriers to accessing mental health care,34 meaning that medical examiners are less likely to have sufficient data to accurately determine and classify deaths in these communities as suicides.35

Police Shootings

The sharp disparities in gun violence impacting Black Americans also extend to police shootings. One in four fatal police shootings involves a Black victim, though Black Americans make up just 14% of the US population.(In 2024, there were 49,207,745 Black Americans in the US and a total population of 340,110,990. From 2020 to 2024, there were 5,766 fatal police shootings. During that same time period, there were 1,437 Black victims. 36 When compared to all other racial and ethnic groups, Black Americans experience the highest rate of fatal police shootings.37 Police fatally shoot Black Americans at three times the rate they fatally shoot white Americans.38 One study showed that Black Americans are just as likely to be shot and killed by law enforcement if they are unarmed as white Americans who are armed.39

Recent research also suggests that Black–white disparities in police shootings were even more pronounced for nonfatal police shooting injuries.40 For example, researchers found that in Florida, Black people were approximately three times as likely as white people to be fatally shot by police, yet more than five times as likely as white people to be nonfatally shot by police.16

Risk of fatal police shooting if Black

Unarmed black civilians are three times more likely to be shot and killed by police than unarmed white civilians. Importantly, research is clear that these disparities in police shootings are not simply a product of more police contact between Black Americans and police or a product of increased crime in communities of color.41 Rather, police shooting disparities are amplified by residential segregation and the resulting racial biases.42

Police shootings have broad impacts on entire communities, leading to trauma and worsening mental health. One study, in fact, found that a police killing of an unarmed Black person led to a significant increase in the number of poor mental health days for Black people living in proximity to the shooting in the following three months.43 The mental health burden of police shootings in Black communities is estimated to be nearly as large as the mental health burden associated with diabetes in these communities.16

The consequences of police violence, however, extend beyond the shooting itself and its traumatic impact. Research is clear that shootings by police can erode community trust in law enforcement.44 Fractures in police-community trust, in turn, can fuel cycles of community gun homicides and shootings that disproportionately impact Black people.16

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Conclusion

The statistics on gun deaths among Black Americans paint a grim picture, but we should not be resigned that this toll and these disparities are inevitable.

Evidence-based gun safety laws can help address the epidemic of gun violence in Black communities. Recent research has found that specific policies, like waiting periods,45 firearm licensing laws,46 and strong public carry laws16 all reduce homicides in Black communities. Importantly, many of these policies enjoy strong support from Black Americans. A poll of Black Americans and Black gun owners found that these groups support a number of gun safety laws, in many cases at higher rates than white Americans and white gun owners.47

These policy reforms must also be coupled with direct investments in community-led violence intervention programs. Community violence intervention programs engage individuals at highest risk of being victims or perpetrators—or both—of violence through a variety of strategies including building relationships and providing supportive social services, addressing conflict through nonviolent means like de-escalation and mediation, and working to support community healing from violence. At their core, these programs ​​directly invest in communities and the people in them, with many programs helping to address systemic inequalities by meeting the economic, educational, health, and social needs of the participants and their families. Many communities have been employing these strategies for years, but dedicated, stable investments are needed to scale and sustain these programs.

Black communities have disproportionately shouldered our nation’s gun violence epidemic for decades, and will continue to do so unless we take concerted, community-driven steps to address this public health crisis. It is imperative—from an equity perspective, a moral perspective, and a human perspective—that we support these communities in reducing gun violence.