An Energy Shift at Howard

HBCUs are naturally a place of optimism. This year, though, was a little different.

There is a specific kind of hope on Howard University’s campus—an optimism that feels bigger than education, bigger than youth, bigger even than ambition. It is hope rooted in legacy. A hope that says, “We come from people who changed the world, so why shouldn’t we expect to do the same?”

About a year ago, that hope felt almost tangible. You could feel it in the Yard between classes, in conversations overheard in Blackburn, in the energy of student meetings and dorm hallways. We were preparing for a historic moment: the real possibility that a Howard alumna, a Black woman, could become president of the United States. That alone infused the campus with running anticipation. It felt like our story, our lineage, and our brilliance were about to take center stage on a national level.

Howard University (The George F. Landegger Collection of District of Columbia Photographs in Carol M. Highsmith’s America, Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division.)

We imagined what that would feel like. A Howard grad, a Bison woman, leading the country. We pictured future prospective students pointing at the White House saying, “She came from where I came from.” It was bigger than politics; it was symbolic, generational, and validating.

But optimism is a fragile thing.

When that hope dissolved, the disappointment on campus was layered. It was not just sadness; it was the quiet, heavy deflation that comes from feeling something extraordinary slipped away. And just as we were processing that, D.C. and the world seemed to hit us with waves after wave of crisis, conflict, tension, policymaking, policing, and political hostility.

Howard sits in the heart of Washington, D.C., and yet sometimes it feels as if we are operating inside our own bubble. A self-contained world where students are focused on exams, organization meetings, campus traditions, and everyday college chaos. But bubbles are not barriers; they are windows. And this past year, the city infiltrated campus life in ways we could not ignore it.

The energy at Howard changed, subtly. Conversations became heavier. Students who used to breeze through debates about politics now responded with tired sighs. People became more protective of their joy. Campus events that once felt carefree now carry undercurrents of stress.

Still, we never lose that sense of community that makes Howard feel at home. In fact, the more chaotic the world around us became, the more we leaned into the bubble--not as avoidance, but as refuge. Howard students have always existed at the intersection of activism and education. It is almost an unwritten requirement to be here. But this past year has pushed many of us inward. We still care deeply about the world, but we are also tired. We are proud, but we are wary. We are hopeful, but our hope is more cautious now.

Yet something else has shifted, too: resilience. Even when disappointment hits, Howard students find ways to rebuild. We create events, we join organizations, we debate, we volunteer, we speak up, we show up. We laugh loudly in the Yard. We dance at Homecoming. We build a community like it is a survival skill because, in many ways, it is.

If the energy on campus feels different this year, it is because we are different. We are more aware of the stakes. We are more aware of how quickly hope can be shaken. But we are also more certain of who we are. Howard has always been a bubble, but it is one filled with brilliance, courage, and Black excellence.

And even in a year of political instability and national disappointments, that has not changed. If anything, we are just learning to navigate the world outside the bubble without letting it burst into what we have built inside.

Daryn Dickens is an honors history major and sports administration minor at Howard University. She interned this summer for the PGA TOUR under Corporate Partnerships.

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