The Quiet Crisis: Black Masculinity Is Being Eroded—and We’re Letting It Happen

The quiet crisis unfolding in our communities isn’t hidden—it’s ignored. Black masculinity, particularly in our youth, is being chipped away by systems that weren’t designed for them to thrive in. Instead of nurturing and elevating our boys, we’re watching them disengage from school, disappear from college campuses, and drift into isolation or incarceration. The erosion isn’t sudden—it’s slow, systematic, and painfully obvious to those of us who’ve spent decades on the front lines. And still, we let it happen.

After 33 years working in the correctional system and now as the publisher of a local newspaper, I’ve had the unique and often painful vantage point of watching this tragedy unfold in real time. What concerns me most isn’t just that it’s happening—but that so many of our leaders are staying silent while it does.

Our education system was never built with Black boys in mind. It rewards stillness, compliance, and verbal fluency—traits that many young boys, especially Black boys with natural energy, curiosity, and strength, are punished for rather than guided through. We’ve replaced hands-on learning and vocational training with standardized tests and rigid discipline, and the results are clear: disengagement, frustration, and dropout rates that keep the cycle turning.

And the numbers don’t lie. The enrollment of Black male students in colleges has sharply declined. Between 2010 and 2022, Black male enrollment at colleges and universities nationwide dropped by approximately 22%. This trend is even more pronounced at Historically Black Colleges and Universities (HBCUs), where Black male enrollment declined by 25% during the same period. Today, Black men make up only 26% of HBCU students—down from 38% in 1976. This isn’t because Black boys are less intelligent. It’s because we are not training them correctly. We are not reaching them where they are, or equipping them in ways that affirm their identities and their value.

Black boys in America are disproportionately diagnosed with ADHD and other mental illnesses, often as a result of systemic bias rather than genuine clinical assessment. Behaviors rooted in trauma, cultural expression, or unmet developmental needs are frequently pathologized, leading to overdiagnosis of disorders like ADHD while underdiagnosing conditions such as anxiety, depression, or PTSD. This mislabeling has serious consequences: instead of receiving support, many Black boys are funneled into special education programs, subjected to punitive discipline, or criminalized at a young age. The lack of culturally competent mental health care, combined with stigma and inadequate access to resources, further isolates them from the help they need. To disrupt this cycle, it is critical to shift from a deficit-based approach to one centered on healing, support, and understanding the unique cultural and environmental realities Black boys face.

Meanwhile, corporate America has increasingly opened its doors to Black women, and that’s worth celebrating. But let’s not pretend that the same grace has been extended to Black men. Especially those who show up in their full, unapologetic masculinity. Too often, our young men are viewed as threats instead of assets, and too rarely are they mentored, invested in, or simply given space to grow.

What’s missing is visibility—real visibility. Our Black boys need to see Black men in front of classrooms, not just behind podiums or patrol cars. We need more Black male teachers, mentors, and community leaders who are not only present, but who are comfortable deploying their masculinity in a way that is confident, grounded, and unapologetic. These boys need to see fatherhood modeled. They need to see Black professionals who don’t shrink to fit into spaces that were never built for us—but who expand those spaces to fit the full spectrum of who we are.

I’ll never forget one young man who used to come through the jail often. One day, he told me, “You’re more of a father to me than anyone I’ve ever known in my community.” That broke something in me. It is a tragedy when a young Black man has to be incarcerated just to encounter a responsible, present Black male figure. We should not have to wear a badge or a uniform for our boys to feel seen.

To the Black women who continue to carry so much of this community on their backs—if you’re reading this, ask the question out loud: Where are the Black men in our school system? Because our children need them—not just the boys, but the girls, too. Positive Black male role models help shape the way our daughters learn to trust, relate, and see strength in protection and presence, not just performance.

And yet, as this crisis deepens, our local Black politicians and pastors—those who should be leading the charge—are more concerned with protecting their image in white spaces and political circles than telling the truth in Black ones. We continue to celebrate politicians presiding over systems that are failing our youth, as if visibility alone is victory. It’s not.

We don’t need more polished speeches. We need substance. We need our leaders to stop acting like this isn’t a problem. We need school board members to champion holistic education—not just college prep, but vocational training, emotional development, and culturally affirming support. We need public investments in mentorship, not just punitive programs dressed up as “reform.”

If you’re a Black man in this community, show up—at the school, at the rec center, in your neighborhood. Our boys and girls are watching, and they need to see what it looks like when we lead with presence, integrity, and love.

Black boys are not broken. But the systems around them are. And unless we find the courage to face that—and do something about it—we’ll keep losing generations of potential fathers, builders, thinkers, and leaders.

“Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” (Proverbs 22:6, KJV)

This scripture isn’t just poetic wisdom—it’s a call to action. When it comes to Black boys, we have too often confused punishment for training, survival for development, and fear for discipline. Training a child means knowing him, loving him, guiding him—not waiting for the world to harden him before we show up. If we get this part right, it changes everything.

The crisis is real—but we cannot allow this dysfunctional gender war to cloud the urgent need to save Black boys. Their future—and ours—depends on our ability to stay focused, unified, and unapologetically committed to their growth.