I recall sitting in one of my freshman-year classes at Morehouse, listening to my professor preach from one of his soapboxes again. He was lecturing us about the importance of being well-read. In comparing my freshman class to his Morehouse alumni class, he said, “You can tell a Morehouse Man, but you can’t tell him much.”
This maxim typically refers to the brilliance of Morehouse men, combined with the aura they subconsciously exude. My professor, however, adamantly argued that people have grossly misunderstood the maxim. Admittedly, I have come to see the truth in his teachings and agree with his argument.
You can tell a man is of Morehouse descent because he ensures that you know it. During their time at Morehouse, students learn that the world — particularly the white world — works against them. They also learn that the system thrives when Black people fail.
So, to survive in this system, they must support themselves and insist that they belong in any space they want to. On the surface, this philosophy is constructive. Black men are taught to love themselves and have the confidence necessary to thrive.
However, there is a fine line between confidence and arrogance, and many men of Morehouse lean towards the latter, more often than not. When one gives in to arrogant self-talk, they begin to neglect the idea that they have more left to learn. Thus, their time at Morehouse – a collegiate institution dedicated to the education and enlightenment of Black men – becomes more about cultivating an external image rather than developing a sound and elevated mind.
The result: Tools that perform well but can’t be told much. They refuse to develop further. In doing so, they betray the charge left by Dr. Benjamin Elijah Mays to always be a learner, even after graduating.
The classroom then becomes a space for a selected few to actually grow, while the others don’t participate, don’t read, and frankly, don’t try. They arrive late to class, dap up their brothers and head to their seats in the back. Five minutes after class ends, they’re already tabling on Brown Street.
These culprits are insistent on becoming thought leaders, politicians, preachers, content creators and entrepreneurs, but they lack the intellectual infrastructure necessary for a Black man to truly uplift a people.
We cannot blame a single entity for creating this destructive system. Instead, the problem stems from a culture that Morehouse’s institutions have shaped over time. However, one of the factors complicit in the underdevelopment of Morehouse minds is a faction of the Morehouse faculty.
Two years ago, Linden Young ’26 wrote about the death of intellectualism in a Maroon Tiger article. In said article, he calls attention to professors who care “extraordinarily little” about Morehouse students and their antics of underperformance.
“There exist whole departments that are primarily interested in producing genteel worker drones,” Young wrote. “They wish for us to look the part but lack the mind necessary for true human flourishing.”
He closed his essay, writing, “The future of our flame may seem bleak, but we still have time to be better and to do more.”
Words printed two years ago, ironically, still ring true. Students continue to underperform, put in minimal effort and face no consequences. In many cases, these same students still receive positions of power and leadership.
What message does that send to the student who works arduously into the late hours to put their best foot forward? What about the communities of scholars dedicated to improving the academic scene at the college? They work in the shadows; they win quietly and watch their “brothers” continue to receive praise for reading 10 pages of a class reading.
The lack of recognition is not inherently the problem. The problem, rather, is derived from the image that Morehouse presents. They prefer performers and money makers over genuine scholars.
As long as the bricks of Dear Old Morehouse still stand, sand will still remain in the top of the hourglass. I fear for the future of Morehouse. My greatest fear is that this institution will become so lost in its performance for the white world that sending my future son here would be a grave mistake.
I pray that Mother Morehouse can bestow authenticity upon its scholars. May Morehouse men become sons, brothers, cousins, husbands and fathers of consequence. I pray that they seek intellectual feats rather than false portrayals of leadership. All I can do is hope that a movement toward genuine scholarship over arrogance will prevail and transform the classrooms of our beloved institution.
