The Struggle for Legitimacy: African American Voice Teachers in a World That Doesn’t Listen

... A Journey from High School to Today

Ya'll, I'm scared because I am mostly private but I felt the need to speak today... well, write. This is what I could get through in. just a couple of hours because I knew if I didn't do it then I would chicken out. So I hope this blog finds you well as a reader. I tried very hard to make sure it was from the heart so enjoy. )

I started this blog back in high school in Rochester, NY, at a time when I was grappling with vocal issues that threatened to derail my passion for singing. This blog was a way for me to spread the information that I'd learned from who I and many would consider to be one fo the best speech pathologist in the United States Gerrianne Jackson...and she was up in Rochester working miracles. At the time, I was already performing professionally, traveling to sing in different venues, and studying under the guidance of incredible mentors—including Renee Fleming’s(who I didn't know at the time but was very quickly aware of the professionalism I had gotten a chance to be apart of ) mother, Patricia Alexander, who was herself a world-renowned voice teacher. Having access to such world-class training at a young age was both a privilege and a challenge. It gave me insight into what excellence looked like, but it also made clear just how different the journey would be for me as a Black singer.

Life moved quickly. Over the last 13 years, I’ve worn many hats: professional opera singer, teacher, and music director, Pianist in New York City. But throughout this time, I’ve been the sole driver of my growth, both as a musician and as a person. The responsibilities stacked up, the pace of life quickened, and this blog—once a safe place to reflect and process—slipped to the background. Now, I feel called to write again. Because the reality I’ve lived, and the stories of countless other Black musicians, need to be told.

When people see me, they see Black. And that perception shapes everything—my credibility, the way I’m received, the authority my voice carries. It’s not something I can shed, nor would I want to. But it is something I must contend with daily in a field still dominated by Eurocentric ideals. As Leontyne Price once said, “I was never offered a great role because of the color of my skin. I had to work harder. I had to make a place for myself.” The truth is, for African American voice teachers, working harder is not an option; it’s the baseline expectation if we want even a fraction of the respect automatically afforded to our white peers.

This blog post is about that struggle: the fight for legitimacy, the quiet but crushing weight of systemic bias, and the resilience it takes to keep showing up for our students and ourselves.

The Long Road to Recognition

Opera and classical music often pride themselves on tradition, discipline, and excellence. But behind the curtain lies a history of exclusion. For centuries, Black voices were deliberately kept out of concert halls, conservatories, and faculty rosters. Marian Anderson’s 1939 performance at the Lincoln Memorial was not simply a triumph of artistry and for our ancestors; it was a direct response to the Daughters of the American Revolution denying her the chance to sing in Constitution Hall because of her race. Anderson’s artistry forced open a door, but it didn’t erase the prejudices embedded in the field.

Even after Anderson, Price, Norman, and Shirley, the idea of the "legitimate" opera singer or teacher remains tethered to whiteness. Students—often without realizing it—carry these biases into the studio. They may not consciously doubt a Black teacher’s authority, but when they encounter vocal techniques or pedagogical approaches from us, their internalized assumptions sometimes make them resistant. Yet the same instructions, rephrased or repeated by a white teacher, are accepted without question.

This isn’t just about pedagogy—it’s about centuries of conditioning. Conservatories and professional institutions historically held up white European singers as the gold standard. Black voices, even when technically excellent, were seen as exceptions to the rule, never the norm. That mindset has never fully disappeared.

“Why Can’t You Just Do It Like Them?” (this one grinds my gears)

One of the most painful aspects of teaching as a Black voice instructor is the quiet erosion of trust. I’ve had students look puzzled, even skeptical, when I suggest a technique that I know works. Weeks later, they’ll come back from a masterclass or having watched a video with a caucasian teacher, suddenly enthusiastic about the very same technique—as if it had just been invented.

This is not paranoia; it’s a pattern. And it is deeply exhausting. Our authority is often undercut not because our instruction is lacking in academia, pedagogy or love for our craft but because the implicit bias in classical music whispers to students: “He can’t be the authority. Not him. Not someone who looks like him.”

Angela Brown, an acclaimed soprano and educator, has spoken about similar experiences. While she has graced the stages of the Metropolitan Opera, she has also acknowledged that Black singers are too often funneled into narrow roles: the exotic, the tragic, the stereotypical. “We’re good enough to sing Aida or Porgy and Bess,” she noted, “but why are we not considered equally for Mozart, Verdi, or Wagner?” If a singer of her caliber is questioned or typecast, imagine the uphill climb for those of us trying to gain legitimacy as teachers.

The message is clear: Black teachers must continually prove that we belong in spaces our credentials already earned. We are asked to over-explain, to justify, to validate what should be taken as professional authority. White teachers are given trust as a gift. For us, trust has to be earned again and again and again and again...you get the point. 

And I know, I know there is an argument about "not feeding into the racism" or "just see yourself as a singer" or the all time favorite "why focus on that?" but I can assure you that with every show, concert or tour I've booked or award I've won or recital I've done, I have never walked into the room and introduced myself saying "I'm black, Nice to meet you". No, I introduce myself like every other person to have graced or glided across that stage, hall, or arena with my full name and the respective words to follow. So. to that argument I ask one question, Why is naming racism often treated as being divisive, but ignoring it treated as being professional? Or even more, Is it possible to separate my artistry from my identity, or are they in fact intertwined in ways that enrich my music? (I have examples if you want) 

The Hidden ( or not so hidden) Racism of the Classical Music World

Racism in our field rarely announces itself with slurs or outright hostility. It’s quieter, more insidious. It’s in the way audition panels “struggle to place” a Black singer’s sound within their expectations of a role. It’s in the lack of Black faculty members at conservatories across the country. It’s in the invitations to teach or adjudicate that never arrive, despite résumés filled with world-class training and professional credits.

George Shirley, the first African American tenor to sing leading roles at the Metropolitan Opera, once said: “We are not here to be what the system thinks we should be. We are here to be the teachers, performers, and leaders we’ve always been meant to be.” His words remain prophetic. Because even now, the system often views Black voices—whether on stage or in the studio—as, "a good look" or all together not central.

These biases don’t just hurt teachers. They harm students. Black students, in particular, absorb the subtle cues that their sound, their approach, or their cultural expression is “less than.” When they see their Black teachers undermined or dismissed, it reinforces a damaging cycle: that validation comes only from whiteness. That authority looks only one way.

Fighting for Legitimacy and Respect

And yet, despite these barriers, we fight on. Black voice teachers are not just holding space—we are reshaping it. Through mentorship, community building, and advocacy, we are building networks that affirm our expertise and challenge the old gatekeepers. Companies like Harlem Opera Theater, Opera Ebony and organizations like the National Association of Negro Musicians (NANM) or the Sphinx Organization are vital lifelines, creating visibility and opportunities for Black artists to thrive.

But the fight is also personal. Every lesson I teach, every student I guide, is an act of resistance against the narrative that my knowledge is somehow secondary. When I stand before my students, I bring not just pedagogy, but a lineage: the courage of Marian Anderson, the brilliance of Leontyne Price, the authority of George Shirley, the power of Jessye Norman. Their stories remind me that I am not alone in this struggle—and that my very presence in the studio is part of a much larger legacy.

So, What Now? 

So where do we go from here? First, we tell the truth. We stop pretending that classical music is immune to racism simply because it aspires to universality. We hold Instructors and institutions accountable for diversifying their faculties, their juries, their repertoires, their understanding of cultures that are not their own in order to better help the pupil achieve their desired goal . We confront the biases in ourselves and our students. And we refuse to shrink back when our legitimacy is questioned.

The road is not easy, but it is one paved with resilience. 

To my fellow Black voice teachers: 

our authority does not come from the validation of white counterparts. It comes from our training, our artistry, our lived experience, and the lineage of excellence we inherit. To my students, I say: trust that when I teach you, I am giving you the tools you need to succeed—not filtered through race, but rooted in expertise.

The truth is this: African American voice teachers have always been a crucial part of classical music. It’s time the world caught up and started listening.

Thank you all for reading this! I just felt a strong need to put this in writing. So if another black voice teacher is feeling the same as I said in the beginning they know they are not alone. 

We can only fight this together and bring back the main focus which should be creating beautiful voices and guiding singers as they go on their performances. Keeping them on their musical toes. 

What will you do to help? 

I do welcome constructive critics and comments. I don't allow bullying, so please be respectful in the comments section if you so desire. Look forward to hearing what your thoughts are! 

( I will try to put one piece out a week.... hopefully people still read blogs hahahaha)