Last Updated on March 8, 2026 by Daily News Staff

Historically Black colleges and universities do more than offer Black youths a pathway to opportunity and success – I teach criminology, and my research suggests another benefit

Andrea Hagan, Loyola University New Orleans

Historically Black colleges and universities, often known as HBCUs, are well known for their deep roots in U.S. higher education and proven effectiveness at graduating Black students who go on to become professionally successful.

HBCUs are colleges and universities that were established before 1964, with the mission of educating Black Americans, though now anyone can attend.

As a criminology instructor who has spent 13 years studying the relationship between educational trajectories and criminal justice – and a Black woman who grew up in the South and attended an HBCU – I believe that HBCUs offer another often overlooked benefit.

They give young people, especially Black people, a pathway in higher education that they might not otherwise receive. By opening doors to education, jobs and mentorship, HBCUs disrupt the conditions that can cause young people – especially Black people – to get lost in the criminal justice system.

The U.S. incarcerates approximately 1.6 million people. Black Americans are locked up at five times the rate of white Americans. This disparity starts young: Black teenagers are 5.6 times more likely to be placed in juvenile detention than white teenagers, and people who are incarcerated as juveniles are nearly four times more likely to be incarcerated as adults. Overall, the vast majority of Black people are not incarcerated.

Attending a HBCU, or any other university, does not guarantee a stable financial future. And not graduating from high school or college certainly does not not mean that someone will become incarcerated.

But research shows that education, especially a college degree, is closely linked to lower crime rates. College graduates who do commit crimes reoffend at rates below 6%, while people who drop out of high school return to prison at rates around 75%.

This is why I believe HBCUs in particular have an important role to play in helping young Black people avoid this path.

Understanding HBCUs

Today, there are roughly 100 HBCUs in 19 states, as well as the District of Columbia and the U.S. Virgin Islands. The schools are a mix of public schools and private, nonprofit colleges and universities.

HBCUs make up just 3% of the country’s colleges and universities. But their graduates include 40% of Black engineers, 50% of Black lawyers and 70% of Black doctors in the United States.

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Most HBCUs are located in Southern and mid-Atlantic states – a legacy of when segregation barred Black students from attending most colleges and universities.

Many HBCUs are also located in rural Southern communities, in particular. Residents of these areas tend to live in poverty and have limited educational opportunities.

Attending a local HBCU is often one of the most practical ways these prospective students can get a degree – in part because HBCUs are often more affordable than other four-year college options.

The average annual tuition for an in-state student at a public HBCU is roughly US$7,700 per year – well below the national average, which ranges from $12,000 at public schools to $45,000 at private schools. Some public HBCUs charge as little as $1,000 in annual tuition for in-state students.

Schools like Coppin State University in Baltimore and the University of Maryland Eastern Shore also offer in-state rates to out-of-state students from places that do not have HBCUs nearby.

Despite their focus on Black students, HBCUs are increasingly diverse.

In 2022, non-Black students made up 24% of the student population at HBCUs. By comparison, 15% of non-Black students made up HBCU populations in 1976.

HBCUs also enroll low-income students, regardless of race, at three times the rate that predominantly white colleges do.

Upward mobility

Research shows completing high school reduces arrest rates by 11% to 12% for both property and violent crimes, regardless of race or economic background.

College takes this effect further.

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Studies have found that college enrollment helps young people with histories of delinquency to stop committing crimes. Completing a four-year degree reduces the likelihood of criminal behavior by 43% to 48%, compared to those who started college but did not finish.

A few long-recognized reasons help explain this pattern. Education increases earning potential, making crime a riskier and less attractive option for people with a degree. Education also encourages long-term thinking, strengthens ties to employers and communities, and builds problem-solving skills that help people navigate challenges.

I have seen firsthand, through my own experiences growing up in the South and teaching students, how HBCUs can help move Black students out of poverty. These schools stand out among other colleges in terms of how effectively they graduate low-income Black students and move them into the middle class, outcomes that research links to reduced criminal behavior.

When researchers rank colleges by whether and how their students improve their socioeconomic status, income and wealth over time, more than half of the highest-performing schools are HBCUs.

Black students who attend HBCUs are 30% more likely to earn a degree than Black students who attend colleges that are not HBCUs. Black HBCU graduates are also likely to earn more money than Black non-HBCU college graduates.

This matters because poverty is one of the strongest predictors of whether someone will commit a crime.

When colleges and universities graduate students who earn middle-class incomes, they help break what researchers call the cycle of intergenerational poverty and incarceration. This pattern describes how children of incarcerated parents are six times more likely to end up in the justice system.

An ongoing money problem

Despite their benefits, HBCUs have chronically struggled with funding. In recent decades, state governments have not given Black land-grant universities – meaning public colleges originally created through federal legislation to serve Black students during segregation – at least $12.8 billion the federal government said they were owed.

Recent federal support for HBCUs has been mixed, as the Trump administration has made widespread cuts to many universities and colleges.

In April 2025, President Donald Trump signed an executive order renewing the White House Initiative on HBCUs, a federal effort to help support these schools. At the time, he said that Black colleges had no reason to fear cuts.

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But days later, Trump’s proposed 2026 budget included $64 million in cuts to Howard University, one of the oldest HBCUs.

In September 2025, the Trump administration redirected $435 million to HBCUs by cutting funds from grant programs that had supported Hispanic-serving institutions and other colleges that have a large proportion of Hispanic or other minority students.

The context that matters

The U.S. criminal justice system disproportionately affects Black people at every stage – from arrests to incarceration. Black Americans make up about 13% of the U.S. population but account for roughly 37% of all people in U.S. jails and prisons.

According to the National Academies of Sciences, the lifetime risk of imprisonment for Black men born between 1975 and 1979, and with less than a high school education, was about 68% – meaning nearly 7 in 10 in that group experienced incarceration at least once.

I have seen firsthand that when Black students from low-income backgrounds enroll at HBCUs, they become more likely to complete a degree and achieve the kind of financial stability that research shows helps reduce the risk of becoming caught up in the criminal justice system.

Andrea Hagan, Instructor of Criminology & Justice, Loyola University New Orleans, Loyola University New Orleans

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

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Last Updated on August 29, 2025 by Daily News Staff

Hulk Hogan and the unraveling of worker solidarity

Brian Jansen, University of Maine Hulk Hogan’s death by heart attack at age 71 came as a shock to many fans of the larger-than-life wrestler who’d earned the nickname “The Immortal.” But in many respects, the real surprise was that Hogan, born Terry Gene Bollea, lived as long a life as he did. Despite the staged nature of its combat, professional wrestling is a notoriously dangerous career. Studies rank it among the riskiest professions. Wikipedia even maintains a comprehensive list of premature wrestler deaths. The reasons for professional wrestling’s dangers are largely tied up in the industry’s working conditions. And part of Hogan’s legacy may be his complicity in those conditions. In 1986, he allegedly played a key role in undercutting a unionization effort – arguably the closest pro wrestling has come to unionizing.

‘The Body’ sticks his neck out

WWE’s first WrestleMania was held in 1985. The pay-per-view event was enormously successful and established the company – then known as WWF – as the nation’s preeminent wrestling promotion. During the buildup to WrestleMania 2 the following year, wrestler Jesse “The Body” Ventura understood that performers had more leverage than they’d ever had. He began advocating behind the scenes for a wrestling union. The story, as recounted by Ventura, goes like this: An acquaintance of Ventura’s in the NFL encouraged him to start organizing behind the scenes. WWE was behind the ball: In 1956, the NFL became the first American pro sports league to have its union recognized. It was followed by the NBA in 1957, MLB in 1966 and the NHL in 1967. It helped that Ventura had little to lose. He’d be appearing in the forthcoming “Predator” film; should he get blackballed from wrestling for trying to form a union, he could probably earn a living as an actor. (Few could have predicted that he would go on to be elected governor of Minnesota in 1998.) As Ventura brought together his peers to hash out the details of what a pro wrestling union might look like, he also included the promotion’s reigning champion, Hogan, with the thinking that the support of the WWF’s biggest star would boost the cause and insulate others from retaliation. Instead, WWF owner Vince McMahon got wind of the effort and called his performers individually, threatening their jobs. The unionization effort sputtered, and McMahon eventually pushed Ventura out of wrestling.

Ventura went on to sue the WWF over unpaid royalties. During the discovery process, Ventura testified that he had learned it was Hulk Hogan who snitched to McMahon and effectively sabotaged the union drive. Hogan never publicly admitted to telling McMahon about the rumblings of a union. The WWE has never confirmed nor denied the series of events. Either way, there have been no unionization campaigns in professional wrestling since then.

‘Do the job’

Today’s WWE performers are legally classified as “independent contractors.” They’re responsible for their own travel, training, costuming and insurance, even as their employer owns their likeness and is indemnified from liability due to injury or death. One of pro wrestling’s paradoxes is that the top promotion’s wrestlers aren’t unionized, even as its audience has historically skewed low income and blue collar. Wrestling has long been a family business, and most wrestlers are part-timers working additional jobs – often in blue-collar, union positions. Many of them are truck drivers and warehouse employees, construction workers and bouncers. Wrestler-turned-scholar Laurence de Garis has written about how the language of wrestling is rich with references to labor. A “work” in wrestling is a staged storyline; to “do the job” is to lose a match. The goal of many performers is to be considered a “good worker” by peers, and WWE performers wrestle as many as 300 nights per year. The company has no offseason. The steroid, painkiller and alcohol abuse that has been endemic to the industry may well stem from pressures on wrestlers to perform night after night, even if they’re in pain, for fear of losing their position. In the 1990s, Hogan himself confessed to extensive steroid use, which is known to contribute to heart disease. You’d think that these harsh working conditions would make wrestlers ripe for a union. Why that hasn’t happened is up for debate. WWE bought out its competition in the early 2000s; perhaps its status as the last remaining major wrestling promotion in the nation has weakened the leverage of wrestlers. Or maybe the testosterone-driven, masculine nature of the sport makes solidarity seem like weakness.

Workers left holding the bag

The story of Ventura’s failed unionization bid is a story of what could have been. But in some sense, I see the story of the WWE as part of a broader story of the U.S. economy. After a period of relative stability after World War II, American work since the 1980s has become dominated by mergers, buyouts, deregulation and financialization. Profits are increasingly generated by financial means such as interest and capital gains instead of through offering genuine goods or services. Layoffs and precarious work have become the norm. WWE’s profits exploded in the 1990s and 2000s. The company went public in 1999 – though the McMahon family retained majority control – and dipped its toes into film production, reality television and online streaming. In 2023, WWE merged with UFC’s parent company Endeavor to form TKO Group Holdings. TKO’s revenue was more than US$2.8 billion in 2024. Meanwhile, Endeavor has been spun off as a Hollywood talent agency and was acquired by a private equity firm. The fruits of these new revenue streams and mergers haven’t trickled down to its in-ring performers. So far in 2025, WWE has laid off or released more than 30 wrestlers and at least 10 employees from the company’s corporate wing.

Much as professional wrestlers have remained independent contractors, this arrangement has become normalized in the broader American economy, with more than 36% of Americans participating in the gig economy. In 2022, Stanford researchers identified gig work as a “social determinant of health,” since most gig workers lack employer-sponsored health care, paid time off or sick days.

All for one and none for all

In today’s economy, luck or happenstance, rather than merit, seem more likely to influence who achieves financial security and who scrapes by, living paycheck to paycheck. Hulk Hogan, as professional wrestling’s biggest star for 20 years, certainly believed he earned his place at the top of the industry. But without diminishing his talents, it’s worth noting he arrived at precisely the correct moment in history to become that star. For many years, a wrestler was expected to have “shoot” skills – that is, actual wrestling expertise – should an opponent ever go rogue and turn a staged performance into a real fight. But as McMahon’s power and influence expanded, the look, the sound and the character of the wrestler became most important. How well could a wrestler perform for the camera? How well could he sell T-shirts to young fans? Despite Hogan’s limitations as a technical in-ring performer, his mullet, mustache and “24-inch pythons” – the nickname given to his enormous biceps – made him the right person at the right time. Hogan also succeeded because his opponents in the ring were willing to make him look like a star. They were able to “do the job” and do it safely. Another paradox of professional wrestling is that it requires performers to appear as if they are hurting one another. But their primary goal, in fact, is keeping one another safe. To me, that sounds a lot like solidarity. Brian Jansen, Assistant Professor of English and Media Studies, University of Maine This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.