“Big Law” Series: What does the "end" of DEI mean for students and "big law" job prospects? (Part III)

See Part I and Part II.

DEI and Big Law: Benefits of DEI initiatives 

In some ways, the elimination of law firm DEI programs will not significantly impact first-gen students' abilities to get "big law" jobs. Sure, these programs offer students a high-paying job and scholarship. But grades, achievements, and fit have and will continue to take precedence in hiring decisions. As a 2009 LCLD scholar states in his LinkedIn post, “[m]ost employers aren’t really in the business of hiring people who can’t do the work.” However, the elimination of law firm-DEI programs will influence accessibility and retention. 

For example, fewer first-generation students may be encouraged to apply for these spots because they do not hear about potential positions as firms cut their marketing budgets. Even for students who are not selected to participate in these prestigious programs, they get a competitive advantage by talking to law firm recruiters early in the process. Eliminating incentives to apply––like a hefty scholarship––may mean fewer first-gen applicants. Demand for "big law" jobs is also increasing as the Trump administration has eliminated the DOJ Honors program and other government work opportunities. 

Retention measures may also be at risk. Affinity organizations––groups which underrepresented minority individuals can join within firms––often help associates transition into big-law life. Advantages like meeting coworkers your first year versus second, learning the culture of the workplace, or understanding the structure of a law firm are exponentially beneficial to students who are the “first and onlys” in their families; they are, perhaps, lost on illegible students who come from a long line of attorneys or working professionals who can give them the same mentorship they would gain from an extra summer of work. 

First-gen law students will have to overcome many barriers, obstacles, and unknowns to get to law school, let alone to succeed in “big law:” taking the LSAT, completing several law school applications, purchasing suits, participating in "OCI," getting good grades, attending networking events, and more. Accessibility, in my opinion, is not defined as whether the application "door" is open. Accessibility connotes whether interested students are given equal opportunities to set goals; participate meaningfully in school- and workplace-culture; or control their careers.

Law schools should continue to use holistic measures to create a more diverse student population. This diversity is not limited to ethnic or socioeconomic diversity, though. It should be, as Justice O’Connor noted in the majority opinion of Grutter, “focus[ed] on academic ability coupled with a flexible assessment of applicants’ talents, experiences, and potential ‘to contribute to the learning of those around them.’” Id. at 315. The legal field––which, according to the ABA, has long been dominated by white (78% of the profession, 2024), straight (approx. 93% of the profession, 2023), able-bodied (approx. 98% of the profession, 2023) lawyers––is thus served by instituting these diversity measures. As long as financial and informational disparities exist, these DEI programs are justified.

“Big Law” Series: What does the "end" of DEI mean for students and "big law" job prospects? (Part II)

Context: DEI initiatives and Equal Protection

Several of my law school courses have explored whether DEI initiatives are legal under the 14th Amendment––the Constitutional requirement to treat all individuals equal. Even if they are legal, do DEI initiatives propel marginalized individuals forward? Or is “‘[d]iversity,’ for all of its devotees, is more a fashionable catchphrase than it is a useful term, especially when something as serious as racial discrimination is at issue,'" as Justice Thomas posed in his concurrence in the 2003 Supreme Court case, Grutter v. Bollinger?

The job market in an evolving “Equal Protection” landscape

President Trump’s cabinet asserts that DEI initiatives are not legal. Several “big law” firms have been the subjects of Executive Orders commanding them to halt their DEI practices, forgo certain pro bono projects, and end relationships with partisan clients. What do the orders mean for first-generation students applying for post-bar jobs? Although many “big law” firms recognize value in these DEI initiatives and are fighting to keep them in place, a growing contingent of big law firms have acquiesced. To avoid an Executive Order, the capitulating firms have promised the Trump administration hundreds of "pro bono" hours worth millions of dollars. Other large law firms have (thus far) remained silent.

Big Law "Spine Index"

As a law student, my news feed is filled with reactions against those firms bowing down to the Trump administration: open letters by associates threatening resignation; "big law" partners initiating focus groups for other partners to act; or data suggesting 1L students applying to jobs are avoiding those firms. The American Bar Association, law school deans, and various law school faculty have also issued statements against the Trump administration's actions. These entities, or members of the entities, also recognize value in recruiting diverse, first-generation students to their firms. They also observe a sizable risk to that goal in eliminating these programs.

So, how does this affect first-generation law students seeking admissions at law schools?

This year is the most competitive year in history for getting into law school. Law school admissions offices often consider a variety of factors––such as GPA, LSAT (law school admissions test) score, undergraduate institution and area of study, and reasons for attending law school––when determining which students to admit and how much financial aid to award them. With DEI programs coming to an end, will law school admissions be impacted? 

In my opinion, they will not be impacted significantly, if at all. Law schools have been afforded wide leeway to institute holistic review of applicants in the admissions process. See Grutter, 539 U.S. at 346. Programs which DEI initiatives may have been useful to “counteract”––like college admission legacy programs––have been largely dismantled. 

In Grutter, then-Chief Justice Rehnquist (joined by Justices Scalia, Kennedy, and Thomas) asserted that the University of Michigan Law School’s DEI admissions statistics do not support its stated DEI goals. Id. at 380-84 (Rehnquist, J., dissenting). They argued that “the Law School’s disparate admissions practices with respect to these minority groups demonstrate that its alleged goal . . . is simply a sham.” Id. at 383.  Maybe, as Rehnquist asserted,  DEI programs are "dishonest and dangerous activity . . . [that has] undermin[ed] democratic . . . process[es]." 

Perhaps Rehnquist is right––that the end of these programs means less gaming by prospective law students or “big law” associates who feel invalidated by DEI application questions. There may be less stigma associated with vulnerable students; who are racial or ethnic minorities or low-income, and who may be cloaked with a feeling of unreservedness, a lingering question of: “Was it what I achieved despite my adversity or my diverse perspective that gained me admissions? Or am I merely an ‘aesthetic [that shapes] the Law School[‘s] certain appearance, from the shape of the desks and tables in its classrooms to the color of the students sitting at them[?]’” Grutter, 539 U.S. at n. 3 (Thomas, J., concurring in part); see also an Op-Ed in The Atlantic about this sensation (reflecting on the autobiography Reflections of an Affirmative Action Baby).  

I will delve further into this debate in Part III, which will address whether this may affect first-generation students breaking into “big law” as a first-generation law student at a “big law” firm. 

“Big Law” Series: Why do students want "Big Law" jobs? (Part I)

Firms are increasingly pushing the on-campus interview process ("OCI") earlier and earlier. Many DEI-eligible students have had a competitive advantage by applying to the 1L Leadership Council on Legal Diversity ("LCLD") or diversity programs offered by “big law” firms. But the existence of these programs raises the question:  why would students participate in stressful, opaque processes just to work in “big law”? What are the benefits of these programs? Why should firms solicit diverse, first-generation students to apply to their early-access programs? This post will explore what “Big Law” is and why first-generation, and particularly low-income, students might be interested in jobs at a big law firm. Subsequent blog entries will discuss President Trump’s executive orders against law firms and why these orders may be relevant to first-generation or diverse students interested in entering the legal field. 

What is “big law”?

Jobs in "big law"––the colloquial name for the top 100-200 law firms as ranked by American Lawyer––are highly coveted due to the type of work lawyers get to do (often representing titans in a field) and the enormous salary they earn (most "big law" firms have starting salaries of >$200,000). The financial stability, work, and prestige make competition for these jobs intense. I’ll unpack some of the details of what these firms offer in the sections that follow.

A. Financial Stability

For many first-generation students, these jobs are not just prestigious, they promise financial stability, which many first-gen students have not previously enjoyed. 

Law school tuition can be extremely expensive, averaging about $151,000 over three years at ABA accredited schools. Many students go into debt to pay for law school, on top of the debt they have accumulated for  college. A big law salary is typically the most efficient means to pay this debt off.

In addition, as a soon-to-be graduate, I have unveiled many "hidden fees" to becoming a licensed attorney: registration with the California State Bar ($150), registration to take the MPRE (ethics exam) ($160), registration to take the California State Bar Exam ($1,082), California Bar Exam prep course (>$2,800), moral character investigation (>$700), and more. These are all expenses for which my "big law” firm is reimbursing me and, in some cases, fronting. 

B. Work Opportunity & Resources 

Another reason why these jobs are so coveted is that they often provide a strong training ground for students to explore many different types of corporate/transactional law or civil litigation projects. As big law firms often have high billing requirements (e.g., minimum of 1900-2100 billable hours/year, often ~60-80 hours of work a week), they require that associates have strong work ethics. The "high-stakes" training ground signals that lawyers at these firms are detail-oriented, quick witted, and less inclined to make mistakes. This sets the lawyers up for opportunities to lateral into other careers in the future. 

C. Prestige

When I started law school, I was unaware that the legal field wielded prestige to impose and maintain hierarchy. There seem to be myriad ways for law students to be "ranked": judicial clerkships, T-14 law schools, Law Review, Order of the Coif, and Order of the Barristers. Yet, data shows that fewer first-gen students are involved in these activities than are their continuing-generation counterparts.

A lawyer’s career can be shaped by how they excelled or the times they did not excel. The legal field can be extremely unforgiving. This puts heightened pressure on students––especially first-generation students––who are unaware of what criteria will be used to evaluate them. As discussed, if first-generation student can break into a “big law” firm, such an opportunity can yield fruitful career opportunities. However, President Trump’s Executive Orders may reduce such opportunities for first-generation students, as will be discussed in Parts II and III. 

Why are we so poor? Working-class whites, capitalism, and racial scapegoating

These past couple weeks we discussed whiteness, specifically the complication of experience that arises from racial advantage but economic disadvantage. This quote from Sarah Smarsh’s Heartland really stuck with me: “If a person could go to work every day and still not be able to pay the bills and the reason wasn’t racism, what less articulated problem was afoot?”

To a lot of working-class white people, especially Republicans, ascertaining the answer to this question can be difficult. If there is no structural oppression preventing them from reaching class privilege, maybe the issue lies with them personally. Facing this is difficult, scapegoating minorities and political opponents is easy. I believe the complexity of this exact question has informed and supported the recent wave of Trumpism we have seen across the U.S.

However, to me, the answer to Smarsh’s question is extremely simple: capitalism is to blame. These white Americans are mistaken if they think there is not a structure oppressing them—because there is. Capitalism is keeps poor people of all races from reaching class privilege. So what is preventing white working-class Americans from recognizing this fact?

I’ll begin with an anecdote: a conversation I had with my Trump supporting, working-class, white cousin. Back in 2016, he was explaining to me why he was voting for Donald Trump. His biggest complaint with the past years was Obamacare, specifically the requirement that he have and pay for healthcare insurance. In his view, he would rather not have healthcare than pay for it, and he was upset that government was making the decision for him.

I guess I could kind of understand his perspective. If he really can’t afford it, why should he be forced to pay for it against his will? But then again how can anyone be comfortable living without healthcare insurance? (Note: my cousin has since gone to the hospital for a snake bite, so he should be thankful that Obama forced him to pay for insurance; otherwise, his out-of-pocket costs would have been enormous).

What astounded me most from that conversation, however, was the way my cousin accepted such a tradeoff as normal. He didn’t question what kind of society would force you to choose between going bankrupt and being able to take care of one’s health. For him, it was all about the way the choice was made for him; he didn’t even that he had only two choices and why that was.

This was the same cousin who loves to blame almost all his problems on Democrats and illegal immigrants. If Democrats weren’t letting the illegal immigrants come here, take our jobs, and freeride off our welfare, well then he would probably be able to afford healthcare, he said. He was sure this was the case, but I was not so convinced.

I asked my cousin what was preventing him from supporting someone like Bernie Sanders, whose plan would not raise taxes for him, but would provide him free healthcare. His response was immediate and visceral. He dismissed it with “well that’s socialism, so it’s bad.”

The limitations of his worldview are not uncommon among working-class whites. It is the product of years of the Red Scare and Cold War propaganda to create an emotional and uncompromising hatred of socialism. If working-class whites, the largest demographic in this country, were to figure out that capitalism was causing their problems, the wealth elite could be overthrown, losing their money and power.

To distract working class whites from capitalism, conservative propagandists employed racial division and scapegoating. For a lot of the current generations, this resulted from the Southern Strategy, a tactic by notable conservatives such as Ronald Reagan and Richard Nixon that focused on increasing white support for Republicans by appealing to racism against black Americans. Through coded language and dog-whistle politics (such as “law and order” or wanting to preserve “safe neighborhoods”), Republicans were incredibly successful at exploiting racial polarization to win elections.

Donald Trump revived this strategy. He has openly admired Richard Nixon and one of his main platforms was to restore “law and order” to American suburbs. This, coupled with his racist comments about Mexican immigrants, is clear indication of how Trump employs racial scapegoating to galvanize his support base, largely white working-class Americans.

In my opinion, this tactic is so successful because of the way it divides the lower class and blinds working-class white Americans from the actual root cause of their economic disadvantage. It gives them something else to blame besides themselves or their own work ethic. Truly, structural disadvantage is easier to stomach if you can blame it on evil people you refuse to understand like Democrats, Black people, and illegal immigrants (who are stealing our jobs and freeriding off our welfare!).

The reality of this is disheartening and contributes to an incredibly polarized society. However, I have reason to be optimistic. For one, Donald Trump was one of the least popular presidents in history. Additionally, support for socialism among young people is higher than ever, even rivaling the support of capitalism.

I can do it, but I don't want to

Ironically, the experience of becoming educated has regularly left me without words, without a language to explain to my family what I’ve lost along this journey. This is partially because I never envisioned there would be any losses. However, I underestimated the challenges of being a first-generation student, and in my delusion fueled grapple for meritocracy, I’ve sometimes lost myself.

Much as in the article, “The Unentitled Kids: California's New Generation of Star College Applicants" by Teresa Watanabe, I hung all my hopes on going to college. I enrolled in my first college prep program, GEAR UP, in sixth grade. I was taught to envision a life that only education could provide. As a result, I did everything in my power to earn it.

In high school, I took nine AP classes and a paralegal course at the local community college. I enrolled in student council, was school ambassador, worked my first job at 16 in a law firm, was a graduate of the inaugural class for the UCI Academy of Law, a participant of the Higher Education Mentoring Program, spent a summer in Washington DC studying Constitutional Law, logged more than 1000 hours of community service, and interned for two youth diversion programs.

Ultimately, I was one of only 4% of students in my high school to attend a four-year university.

When I finally left home for college, I was clear about what I wanted. I wanted to do well enough to get into a good law school. I wanted a career that mattered to me. My BA was just a stepping stone towards the life I would have later. As such, I erroneously thought the hard part, namely getting into college, was over.

I had no idea how difficult it would be to remain in college. That I would be haunted by the versions of me who stayed home and watched my siblings grow up. That a monster would awaken within me, and I would doubt my capacity incessantly. That I would brush up against racism to an extreme degree and learn the violent history that espoused white supremacy. They were all losses I cannot quantify, because despite leaving Santa Ana, I’d never felt more inadequate.

While there are countless anecdotes that made me question my capacity to succeed, one sticks out in particular.

At the tail end of my junior year, I had been accepted to write an honors thesis in both my majors, English and Religious Studies. I quickly realized I could only feasibly write one and went to consult both major advisors.

In my conversation with the Religious Studies advisor, she told me that even if I wrote a thesis, I would not graduate with the Highest Honors I was hoping for. When I inquired why, she said I was just shy of the GPA cut off and would need to get straight A’s my senior year to qualify. I did not see the issue. I should add that my GPA in the Religious Studies department was a 3.9. I assured her I could do it. She assured me it was too difficult. 

Her certainty that I would not make it reinforced my secretly harbored fears that whatever academic success I’d attained had been good luck. She knew, and I knew, like I had suspected all along, that I could not do it.

Minutes after leaving her office, I, an absolute mess, called my mom. We prayed and she challenged me to try anyways. My mom’s kind words and gentle reminders softened what would have been the end of my desire to pursue a thesis.

Ten months later, that same academic advisor bestowed the gold cord around my neck, upon completion of my thesis. I looked her in the eye the entire time. I did not register remorse or embarrassment. I am not sure she remembered her words.

When graduation came, I was allowed to walk the stage with a family member. My mom wore my gold cord as she walked alongside me.

Admittedly, law school has resurrected some of the same monsters from my undergrad days. However, it has also freed me. It brought into heightened perspective the rat race I'd been running. I feel more relieved of my desire to compete for a career. I want a life. I see now that education will only take me part of the way to the life I want. I have to cultivate the rest. 

I agree with Case and Deaton that "[p]erhaps meritocracies destroy themselves over time." I am a destroyed meritocracy. Whether by choice or necessity, I think we all get to point of questioning how the endless need for validation can sustain us. 

As a result, I care less about “earning” my way. There is some measure of freedom in knowing that the education gap is so wide, I can stop splitting myself apart to bridge it. I have no desire to spend my life proving I can measure up. I am here, against a lot of odds, and it is enough.