The barriers that keep us out

Since coming to law school, I've had a theory that the institutions in place do everything they can to keep low-income, first-generation (defined as students who do not have at least one parents with a bachelor's degree) or otherwise diverse students out of the legal profession. Here's how: 

Undergraduate education

As we have discussed in class, even getting a bachelor's degree is a battle for many students who represent racial, ethnic and economic diversity. High-income, white families have more resources, leading to higher SAT scores than those from black or brown and low-income families. Without holistic review, or the now unconstitutional affirmative action, the student body in four-year colleges would be made almost entirely of students from white families who are middle class or wealthy. 

Even when diverse students get into college, it is an uphill battle to stay enrolled. Many students don't even try because they fear they can't afford it. Even if students receive the maximum financial aid, it may not be enough. With maximum financial aid, students in California will still need to pay up to $9,000 out of pocket. 

Law school admissions 

Law school applications are expensive. That's no secret. In addition to application fees for every school a student applies to, there are additional fees associated with transcripts, and processing fees through the Law School Admissions Council. Registering for the law school application system, the Credential Assembly Service (CAS), is $207 and the report generated by CAS is $45 per school application. These are all required fees to apply to a law school. Even more significantly, many schools require students to take the Law School Admissions Test (LSAT) to get into law school. Many students take the test multiple times, paying the exam fee each time. These fees may deter students from applying at all.

In addition, first-generation students underperform on standardized tests such as the LSAT. This means they are less likely to get into top schools even if they are able to take the LSAT. 

Even though LSAC offers fee waivers for some of the fees, these waivers are often hard to get. Indeed, getting the waivers often requires a level of self-advocacy and an awareness of relevant processes. My own experience and those of others' suggest that many people are denied the LSAC fee waiver the first time they apply, despite meeting the eligibility requirements. It is possible that first-generation students do not have the time or the resources needed to ensure they get the waivers. 

The summer position job search

The barriers do not end once first-generation students get into law school. Diverse students may be behind the curve in law school hiring. For one, high-paying big law positions are greatly concerned about class ranking and grades. First-generation students, as we've discussed in class, have to worry about family obligations and finances that other students do not. Thee may keep first-generation students from focusing solely on school. This, of course, affects their GPAs. 

Without top ranks and good grades, first generation students may not even be able to get their foot in the door with big law. However, public interest positions require sacrificing a high salary, which low-income students may not have the luxury of doing. 

In addition, many employers want to see prior legal experience, but the positions that provide that experience are often unpaid. Many first-generation students often cannot take on the unpaid legal internships that are available, and instead opt to work in non-legal positions that actually pay, such as customer service or retail positions.  

Finally, first-generation students often do not have the robust networks that continuing-generation students enjoy. Even when their job applications fall short, some students have networks on which they can rely to support them as they seek legal employment. 

The financial barriers don't end here. Once students are admitted, the often face rising law school tuition, and first-generation and low-income students may not have the financial support that other students have. Despite ending up in lower-paying jobs, these students are likely to be buried in student loan debt.

The differences are tangible. First-generation students are more likely to work in government positions, have lower employment rates, and go into private practice at lower rates than non-first-generation students. 

So what do we do about it? 

Honestly, I don't know. But what I do know is that there is power in highlighting these inequalities and how our experiences impact our performance even beyond the walls of UC Davis School of Law. I do also know that it is worth celebrating that despite these barriers in place, each and every first generation student at King Hall - and in law schools across the country - has done what seems to be the impossible. People may not know it, or understand the full range of barriers that keep us out, but we first-gen students do. We have all accomplished incredible, difficult things, and that is certainly worth celebrating.

Like father, like son

We read an excerpt from Michelle Obama's Becoming about her family, and particularly, her father's health complications. When I read about her father's obstinate pride, I couldn't help thinking of my dad.  I couldn't help thinking about the similarity of how difficult it is to ask and to offer help to a father.

I've written about my dad in previous blog posts. He immigrated to America when he was in high school. He couldn’t speak English and struggled in high school. Without any career prospects, he enlisted in the Navy for citizenship. Like a lot of our parents, he worked odd jobs, ranging from car salesman to computer hardware technician.

He became a math teacher when he was 40 years old and he loves it. He’s great at math and he’s great at teaching (anyone other than his kids). For the first time in his life, he was working at a job he enjoyed. 

I knew his most common complaint were his students who either didn’t show up or showed up and disrupted the classroom. I figured it was a common part of the job, and my father never told us anything more than his usual complaint about his disrespectful students. 

Last year, a family friend, who was the same age as my father, committed suicide. When something like this happens, there’s a morbid selfishness where we ask ourselves if it could have been us; if it could have been our family going through this tragedy. When the subject came up at a family dinner, my father finally revealed how much he had been struggling, and how he felt as if he was at his tipping point.

He told us that his students were walking all over him in his classroom. He wasn’t able to teach a single class without disruptive students, and he wasn’t being supported by his administration at all. He told us how, recently, his students started throwing markers, erasers, and water bottles at him whenever he turned around to write on the white board. He had to secretly record this behavior on his phone to turn over to his administrative faculty because they refused to do anything unless he had evidence. My mom didn’t even know these details. 

He assured us he would never harm himself, but I was so upset to hear that this had been going on for so long, and he never once informed his family. Older immigrants in America struggle with mental health and a lot of it goes undiscussed amongst older men. Part of me wonders how much the pressure of being a man and a father forces my dad to bottle it in.  And part of me wonders just how much of this stubborn pride I’ve picked up.

After my 1L year, I was confronted with the realness of my deteriorating mental health for the first time in my life. It could have been my pride or something old-fashioned in me, but I was always reluctant to recognize my mental health out of fear that it would become another excuse. I opened up to my friends and recalled how terrible I felt by the end of 1L, and how I felt like I was in a huge pit. 

Yet, I didn’t tell my family. Whenever my parents asked how difficult law school was, I would always respond by saying it’s tough, but I would take care of it. I didn’t want them to worry about their son who was living away from home for the first time, and I think I was trying to convince myself that I would be able to take care of it.

In Hillbilly Elegy, Vance writes about how much of his conflict style comes down to nature v. nurture. I asked myself the same question when it came to how I deal with stress and mental health. How much of my pride and reluctance to open up to my family is because of my father’s influence on me? What can I do to change this? 

In class, when we talked about what we could do to raise our family’s understanding of our struggles in higher education, I raised the point that we could be more transparent with our family. It feels hypocritical, but I think it’s a good idea. I don’t have to keep everything bottled in to be a “man.” Who knows, maybe by opening up and being transparent with my family, my dad might be encouraged to do the same.