The Black community on campus let out a collective sigh as UC Berkeley announced Jan. 29 that it was named a Black-Serving Institution in December 2025. The designation is part of a new California state initiative recognizing colleges and universities that demonstrate a sustained commitment to supporting Black and African American students.
For many Black students, however, the announcement did not feel like progress. Instead, it felt like yet another instance where minimal efforts at cultivating support, acknowledgment and accessibility were rewarded by an institution that continues to uphold a system of disproportionate power and exclusion.
As a Black woman finishing my last semester at UC Berkeley after four years, I have learned that being labeled “Black-serving” does not mean Black students feel served. At UC Berkeley, the gap between recognition and reality remains wide.
Black students are often expected to navigate elite academic spaces without sufficient institutional care and support. In classrooms where Black students are routinely underrepresented, many are expected to perform unspoken diversity labor through explaining perspectives, representing communities or remaining silent to avoid scrutiny. When Black students do find spaces of belonging on campus, those programs and organizations survive largely because of student labor, not administrative priority.
If UC Berkeley wants to claim the title of a “Black-Serving Institution,” it must be willing to confront what that designation actually requires.
According to the Lumina Foundation’s report “Balancing Act: The Tradeoffs and Challenges Facing Black Students in Higher Education,” Black students in the U.S. face persistent barriers to degree completion, particularly discrimination and competing responsibilities. Black students in the least racially diverse programs are more likely to report feeling unsafe or discriminated against, with 21% of currently enrolled Black students reporting discrimination “frequently” or “occasionally” compared to 15% of all other students.
The report also found that Black college students are twice as likely to balance school with caregiving or full-time work, with 36% reporting these responsibilities compared to 18% of their non-Black peers. These challenges require more than labels; they require clear access to counseling services and systems that ensure the university is supporting students navigating multiple demands. UC Berkeley is not exempt from these responsibilities simply because Black-centered resources exist on campus.
If UC Berkeley is serious about calling itself a Black-Serving Institution, the first step is honesty. That means publicly acknowledging the gap between its institutional branding and the lived experience of its Black students. Titles and designations mean little when they are not accompanied by transparency about what is lacking. Without openly naming where the university falls short, the label risks becoming another symbolic gesture that prioritizes reputation over accountability.
Beyond acknowledgment, the campus must expand the accessibility and visibility of existing Black-centered resources. Many of these programs are effective, but lack visibility or centralized institutional promotion, leaving students to discover them through word of mouth rather than coordinated outreach by the university. UC Berkeley should invest in the infrastructure that Black students have already built and sustained instead of creating new initiatives for appearance’s sake.
The Black organizations that I have joined, the Haas Undergraduate Black Business Association and Diaspora Magazine, were not introduced to me through campus channels. I learned about them from my Black friends or the organizations’ own social media promotions. Meanwhile, other campus organizations enjoy consistent visibility through academic departments, newsletters and administrative support.
That investment must also extend to Black student organizations, which are too often treated as evidence of diversity rather than recipients of sustained institutional care. Black student organizations are succeeding despite neglect, powered largely by unpaid student labor rather than administrative assistance.
Addressing this requires more than statements of inclusion; it demands structural accountability, equitable funding and a genuine commitment to making campus spaces accessible to those they claim to serve.
Finally, UC Berkeley must confront exclusion within student organizations that claim inclusivity while consistently failing to admit or retain Black students. Diversity cannot be selectively performed.
As I prepare to graduate from UC Berkeley, I carry pride in the Black communities that sustained me here — not because the institution made space for us but because we made space for each other. These communities deserve support for the work they are already doing, not recognition after the fact. They deserve resources, protection and institutional commitment.
If UC Berkeley continues this pattern, the “Black-Serving Institution” label will primarily benefit the institution itself, offering reputational gain without material change. Black students, meanwhile, will remain responsible for creating and sustaining their own support systems.
Recognition without resources is not progress. Until UC Berkeley invests meaningfully in Black students, the campus will remain “Black-serving” in name only.