Teaching Black History in the Computer Science Classroom: A Revelation from Buffalo
Dr. Kai Dupe • July 29, 2025
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Last week, I had the privilege of attending the 8th annual Teaching Black History Conference hosted by Dr. LaGarrett King and the University at Buffalo. This year’s theme, “Black Boy Joy, Black Girl Magic: The History of Black Childhoods,” challenged educators to reimagine how Black experiences and historical narratives are taught in classrooms across the country. I arrived expecting to grow in my understanding of Black history pedagogy. I left with a revelation: Black history has a rightful place in the computer science classroom.
As a computer science educator, I’ve long worked to make my teaching inclusive and culturally responsive. But this conference made something click. I began to imagine how powerful it would be to teach CS through the lens of Black historical contributions, cultural knowledge, and lived experiences. Black history isn’t just something to be taught in February — it can be a framework for making computer science education more relevant, more just, and more inspiring for all students.
Take, for instance, the untold stories of Black tech pioneers like Dr. Clarence “Skip” Ellis, Dorothy Vaughan, and Mark Dean. Their legacies are not only worthy of recognition but can anchor entire units on programming, computing history, and innovation. Or consider using data science lessons to examine racial disparities, voting rights, or algorithmic bias — connecting technical skills to real-world issues students care about. Even a unit on web development could ask students to build digital archives or storytelling platforms celebrating Black heritage.
What struck me most at the conference was how joy, identity, and history were centered — not as add-ons, but as essential. Imagine bringing that same energy into CS classrooms. Imagine students coding apps rooted in their communities, building with purpose, and seeing themselves in the discipline.
This experience has sparked a shift in my approach. Moving forward, I want to intentionally design lessons that connect computer science to Black historical inquiry, cultural storytelling, and ethical reflection. Teaching Black history isn’t separate from teaching tech — it’s a way to liberate the code and bring our full selves into the work.
To my fellow CS educators: the future of tech education can — and should — be rooted in justice, joy, and history. This conference helped me see that clearly.
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Stepping onto the campus of Morehouse College this past weekend for Admitted Students Day was more than a visit—it was a moment of reflection. As I watched young Black men walk with purpose across the yard, I found myself asking a simple but profound question: What would it have been like for me to study computer science here? My journey into computing was shaped in environments where I was often the only Black man in the room. That reality brings with it an unspoken weight—the need to prove you belong, the awareness of being watched, and sometimes, the quiet isolation that comes with underrepresentation. Standing at Morehouse, I realized that this burden is not a given. It is a condition of the environment. At Morehouse, the environment is different by design. Here, Black men are not anomalies—they are the standard. I imagined what it would feel like to learn algorithms, data structures, and software development in a space where my identity was not questioned but affirmed. Where excellence is expected, not in spite of who you are, but because of it. As a computer science professor, I understand the academic rigor required to succeed in this field. There is no shortcut through recursion, no bypass around debugging, no substitute for disciplined problem-solving. But what struck me during my visit is how much context matters. When students are free from the psychological burden of proving they belong, they can redirect that energy toward mastering the material. They can collaborate more openly, ask questions more freely, and take intellectual risks without fear. I also thought about legacy. At Morehouse, students walk the same grounds as Martin Luther King Jr.. That kind of history does something to a person. It raises the bar—not just academically, but personally. It invites students to see their education not just as a pathway to a career, but as preparation for impact. Leaving campus, I felt inspired—but also reflective. I cannot rewrite my journey, but I can appreciate what spaces like Morehouse offer the next generation. For a Black male pursuing computer science, it is more than a degree. It is an opportunity to develop skill, confidence, and identity in alignment. And that combination is powerful.