Why Microsoft’s TEALS Program Matters for Black Students in Tech
Dr. Kai Dupe • June 16, 2025
TEALS connects high schools with tech industry volunteers who co-teach computer science classes alongside the school’s teachers.
For years, one of the biggest barriers to increasing Black representation in tech has been access. Many high schools—especially those in under-resourced, predominantly Black communities—simply don’t offer computer science courses. That’s where Microsoft’s TEALS (Technology Education and Literacy in Schools) program is making a difference.
TEALS connects high schools with tech industry volunteers who co-teach computer science classes alongside the school’s teachers. Over a few years, the volunteers help train those teachers to eventually lead the classes on their own. It’s a sustainable, capacity-building model—not a quick fix.
And it works.
Since its launch in 2009, TEALS has supported over 100,000 students and trained 2,000+ teachers in more than 1,300 schools across the U.S. A 2016 research study published by the SIGCSE (Special Interest Group on Computer Science Education) showed that TEALS effectively transitions teachers from support roles to independent CS instructors over time. That means schools don’t just get temporary help—they gain lasting computer science programs.
The program is also focused on equity. In the 2022–23 school year, 47% of TEALS students identified as Black, Latinx, or Indigenous. This matters. When students from historically excluded communities are given the opportunity to explore computer science early, they’re more likely to pursue it in college and beyond. And when they see industry professionals—especially those who look like them—volunteering in their classrooms, the idea of becoming a software developer feels far more real.
As a Black software developer, I believe programs like TEALS are critical. They don’t just teach code—they build confidence, demystify tech careers, and create new pipelines into an industry that still struggles with inclusion. And for many students, TEALS is the first time they’re told: “You belong in this field.”
We need more programs like this—ones that combine technical expertise with cultural awareness and long-term investment. TEALS proves that when we meet schools where they are and empower teachers from within, we can truly expand access to tech for the next generation.
A mentor gives you advice. A sponsor creates opportunities.
Representation alone will not solve the persistent racial disparities in computing.
The truth is that most software applications exist to manage information.
Artificial intelligence has become the newest member of nearly every software development team.
The true promise of computing is not found in the machines we build, but in the human potential we unlock when knowledge becomes accessible to everyone.
One of the reasons I value the MCT program so highly is that it represents more than technical knowledge.
Software engineering is not simply coding.
Companies often promote the idea that technical skill alone determines success.
Hackathons also strengthen teamwork and communication skills.
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.