Mid-life is often marked by crisis. Anxiety concerning the past places one in a state of perpetual discomfort and indecision. But, after 55 years of continued operation, the Afro-American Cultural Center—affectionately known as “the House”—has not encountered this crisis. Fortunately, the inverse has occurred. For many Black students, the House remains a shining monument to the past’s bounty: Each step up the stony stairs marking the entrance reminds you of the weight of struggle and solidarity. At the same time, each day is an opportunity for Black Yale students to reimagine what the House could be. The House’s project is not finished. In fact, it has only just begun.
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The ’60s were fertile ground for the House’s planting. New Haven—like other urban centers—incubated a new social consciousness, turning a need for social change into an urgent demand. In 1965, 14 Black men became Yalies: a record number. They stepped foot onto a university that functionally segregated Black and white students, once tilled by enslaved Black people. But the growing passions of the ’60s prompted mass organizing. In 1967, Donald Ogilvie YC ’68, SOM ’78; Armstead Robinson, YC ’69, and Glenn De Chabert, YC ’70, along with fellow students, founded the Black Students Alliance. In the years after its founding, they collaborated with faculty, New Haven organizers, and community members to redefine Blackness at Yale. Activism led to the creation of the African-American Studies Department, increased Black enrollment at Yale, and ultimately, the founding of the Afro-American Cultural Center on 1195 Chapel St. in 1969. Consequently, the House became Yale’s first cultural center and one of the first in North America. Since its inception, the House has been a home for solidarity, innovation, and radical self-definition.
I reexamined this history with Timeica Bethel, JE ’11, Director of the Afro-American Cultural Center and Assistant Dean of Yale College. It was a chilly fall afternoon: an array of leaves decorating the ground, a slight wind shifting the hammock outside. Soft light poured through the windows to reveal the wooden alcove between the Founders’ Room and the E-Room (short for “Enormous Room”). Walking through the House’s first floor reminded me of the building’s grandeur. I searched through the Founders’ Room, the Purple Room, and the Mural Room for students: some studying, some sleeping, and some, simply, sitting. Eventually, Dean Bethel called me into her office for conversation. I sat down between her desk and some boxes set aside to replenish the House’s snacks. Notes, pamphlets, and materials were scattered across the room, cluttering the small area with evidence of past House programming.
Our discussion of the House’s origins quickly led to something more personal. The House was a place within a wider university that allowed Dean Bethel to find herself. As a young Black woman, her life “was focused on taking care of [her] siblings and [her] grandmother,” but as a student, she was granted valuable alone time. As she found herself increasingly in the House’s spaces, Dean Bethel’s presence swelled into leadership in Yale’s Black community. She became involved with several student organizations on campus: Black Church at Yale, the Dominican Students Association, and the Urban Improvement Corps, to name a few. And it granted her newfound mobility, agency, and freedom. Dean Bethel said, “The House is where I found my voice.”
Her sentiments resonated with me. I was raised in a community where Blackness was fodder for jest and bigotry. But the House made it an acceptable way of life—a place where, in Dean Bethel’s words, “the resilience of Black people” is visibly evident. The House’s presence was a reason I applied to Yale. The House is not merely a physical building—a center—that hosts programming and offers resources to students.
“It is a place where you come to find comfort and community,” said Dean Bethel. “It is a place where you come to feel a sense of solace. It is a place where you can feel the sense of home.”
Community is built here, and it is made of humans moving in and out of its stony interior.
And many have. It is difficult to discuss the House without acknowledging its almost mythic stature. The House’s founding is a historical flashpoint, signaling a wave of ethnic inclusion into predominantly white universities. Its revolutionary origins have left birthmarks. Images of the three founders, along with other important leaders of the House, decorate the Founders’ Room. The library carries books signed by the likes of Cornel West, with texts produced by students—now, professors—who passed through the House’s doors. Enter the Lighten Room, filled with bean bags and couches around a flatscreen TV, to see images of when the House was once called the “AfAm House” and “Afro America.” History molds the House’s nooks and crannies.
Being surrounded by history is not uncomfortable there. Although eras of Black history such as slavery and Jim Crow ignite longstanding traumas, the House—from its layout to guiding philosophy—is a place where dominant tropes of Blackness are contested. And its continued survival is a reminder that Black communities have always been here and will always be here—defending, fighting, and redefining the conditions of social and political life. These redefinitions begin at the House’s very name.
“The name has always been interesting for people,” noted Dean Bethel. “When it was first chosen, the Black community at Yale at the time was predominantly generationally African-American. What I think is really important is that the founders did not want to name the House, ‘African American Cultural Center.’ I think that, in my opinion, choosing Afro-America was more inclusive and pulled more of the sense of diaspora.”
Language is always slippery and never meets the full extent of its immediate demands. And the demand to define Blackness—and name it—remains a tall order. But, operating as a place that serves the African diaspora, the House always approaches Blackness from a diasporic lens, displacing “Africa” as either homeland or origin. Blackness looks, feels, and acts differently; it is made manifest in different ways. By affirming the diversity within Blackness, the “res groups,” or residential groups affiliated with the House, prove crucial to the House’s internal dynamics.
“We have over 50 student organizations affiliated with the House that really reflect the Black diaspora as a whole,” said Dean Bethel. She listed just a few: the Yale African Students Association, the Nigerian Students Association, the Caribbean Students Organization, and the Dominican Students Association.
The Yale Black Women’s Coalition (YBWC) operates alongside them. Though established in 2006, the pandemic disrupted student activities, causing the YBWC to cease operations. Now, co-presidents Shelley Duodu, BF ’26 and Elise Joshua, ES ’26 are working to “revive the organization,” collecting age-old flyers and documentation from former YBWC members as they chart the coalition’s future. Recently, they have hosted events ranging from wellness to professional development, seeking a “holistic” approach to care.
“The Coalition is a space for Black women to essentially breathe,” said Shelley.
Both noted the centrality of the archive—both living and non-living—in the coalition’s operations. The absence of physical documentation may be a limiting factor in recovering past traditions, but the House is itself a viable space where students build new traditions from the old. Their biggest event: the first-ever YBWC induction ceremony, hosted on October 27, 2024. Dozens of Black women from across grade levels came together to “celebrate, empower, and embrace Black womanhood,” taking pleasure in the joy found through connection. Their solidarity counters dominant narratives held against Black women.
Elise said, “For Black women, specifically, the world very often sends the message that we have to work harder to make our voices heard and to be seen.”
For Black female Yale students, the Coalition offers care in a world—and a campus—that fails at such, within a House that affords “safety,” “visibility,” and “proximity.”
Shelley put it simply: “The House serves as a place where I can just be me.”
These intimate spaces foster enduring relationships between Black female students across class years, facilitating support and guidance. The two presidents noted lessons they learned from older Black female students: “it’s okay to not be okay”; “it’s okay to ask for help”; “we are stronger as a collective.” Outside the classroom, the House installs a new pedagogy—one of sensitivity, grace, and compassion—birthed out of new genealogies. Preserving them requires the formation of a new history.
Dean Bethel advised the coalition to “document everything,” guaranteeing their presence in history. “Longevity” and “sustainability” are their central goals for the year—securing YBWC as a vibrant space for belonging among Black women at Yale. They plan to host a Women’s Retreat in the spring and a brunch for graduating seniors in the last few weeks of classes.
“My hope is that all the work we’re doing is something that lasts,” affirmed Elise. “That Black women for the next 55 years can join, be welcome, and be at home.”
The YBWC’s efforts reflect the historical role of student leadership in the House. When it first opened, Yale gave students the physical key to the building. Dean Bethel described how students would use landlines—not smartphones—to call each other in their dorms to figure out who had the key and who could let another person inside. The House’s management was entirely horizontal, volunteer-based, and student-run.
“They ran it how they wanted to,” declared Dean Bethel.
The students’ initiative spilled over into their activism. De Chabert, one of the House’s founders, coalitioned with fellow students and New Haven organizers during the Black Panther Trials in the spring of 1970, receiving incompletes in his classes during his last semester. He was more interested in protecting the Panthers’ right to a fair trial—housing them, like many other students, on campus and at the House. Students who managed the House protested on the Green, marched on May Day, and were arrested during Yale’s anti-apartheid protests in the ’80s. As blackface incidents and racist graffiti ignited student life, Dean Bethel participated in organizing the “Rally Against Hate,” as students marched across campus on November 14, 2007. Years later, in 2015, more than 1,000 students gathered in solidarity during the “March of Resilience,” as they championed for racial inclusion and the renaming of Calhoun College.
“That spirit of activism has continued to the Yalies of today,” explained Dean Bethel. “The protests in 2015 about the renaming of colleges and the titles of the heads of colleges, and everything that happened this spring… It’s hard not to see the connection to the founders from 1969 to now.”
The House continues to form leaders: those who recognize the wealth of the past as a foundation for change. And it is made sustainable through an active process of reckoning. The House’s 55th anniversary demonstrates how the House is not mired by history but transforms it as a seed for continued development.
Dean Bethel asserts it herself: “It’s all about acknowledging that this house has a firm foundation, that we were formed by steady hands, because wonderful things have come from this place. We still have a long way to go, right? So we’re planning for our future.”
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The House’s students will lead it into the future. Although the President of the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, Elizabeth Alexander, will headline the House’s anniversary celebrations from March 28th to 30th, current student leaders will discuss their visions for the future throughout panels. Alumni and administrators are individuals who will “empower them to lead this house going forward,” said Dean Bethel.
50 student staffers—student assistants and peer liaisons—manage the House’s internal and external operations, such as media, advising, political education, and event management. Dean Bethel and Assistant Director Sydney Feeney are the House’s two professional staffers, tasked with organizing these programs, but the House’s initiatives primarily come from students themselves.
Head Student Assistant Kennedy Odiboh, BK ’25 discussed the labor structures that maintain the House. Working alongside the House’s two other Head Student Assistants—Darren Markwei, BK ’25 and Jude Meares-Garcia, ES ’26—he serves as a “liaison between professional staff leadership and the student employees” to help “bridge the gap between what [the Black] community needs and how the administration can meet those needs.” He aids in day-to-day operations, while leading “critical discussions about the House” and how its staff can “shape student culture.”
Black Yalies do not stop contributing to the House after graduation. “When [alumni] come to the House, when they are back home, they are curious as to how it’s changed and the things we’ve preserved,” explained Kennedy. “As one of the [Head Student Assistants], doing research and understanding the impact of the House is a big responsibility, and being able to appreciate and interact with the people that build the history is a big responsibility.”
The House’s continued presence on Yale’s campus is only possible through alumni and student engagement. At the intersection of these two spheres, Kennedy recognizes the House’s power within Black community building—across generations.
“If there is no House, all the avenues for Black students will not exist,” he affirmed. “We risk losing that. We risk ostracizing parts of our own community.”
This is why the House’s preservation was dependent on its “institutionalization.” Kennedy explained, “It now receives support from Yale as a university which, in turn, supports Black students and their endeavors.”
Still, its place in Yale’s administrative penumbra does not preclude student action. The House is built on roots of “radical practice.”
“The House has a role in society, as well as Yale,” said Kennedy. “It allows the House to be an agent of change by allowing students to do what they want to do and addressing student needs in ways that balance longevity and action.”
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What will the House encounter in the next 55 years? The future is always an open question. But we know current threats.
Twenty two states have introduced or passed laws restricting education on race, Black history, sexual orientation, and gender identity. The Trump administration has dismantled federal DEI programs, denied the existence of transgender Americans, and pardoned more than 1,500 Jan. 6 insurrectionists involved with white supremacist groups. When popular culture contests the existence of white supremacy, Black American life is under threat.
“For Black students coming from [affected states], they can find a place of affirmation in the House they will not have experienced before,” assured Dean Bethel. “And for non-Black students, they can come to a place to learn things they weren’t able to learn before. I don’t think that any person with the level of empathy you need to be a well-rounded, global citizen will say that places like the House should not exist.”
The House marks more than a flashpoint of history: It represents an active demand for new history to be made—by changemakers who carry a legacy of justice into their chosen professions and everyday lives. The House tells its students that history itself can be re-defined.
“I believe that Yalies want to leave the world better than they found it,” said Dean Bethel. “I feel like that’s who we are, and I believe that spaces like the House and the other cultural centers are crucial to that mission.”
A brisk wind slipped through the folds of my coat when I left the House that afternoon, arousing an uneasy chill. But the House’s residual warmth persisted. It pressed against the chill, carrying me to my next destination. It left an imprint, and it has not worn off.
