A prudent concern to cultivate

 Civilization VI (“Civ6”) is a mobile game that I began to play early on this semester out of piqued curiosity and a desire to justify my renewed Netflix subscription. It’s a very long and intricate game, played in an almost tabletop style, that positions each player as the immortal head of their randomly assigned nation. At every turn, each player is faced with seemingly minor decisions about the management of their fledgling nation. Each decision takes several turns into the future to become fully realized. Some examples are should I build a library or a military encampment? Should I destroy a forest to build a university? With whom should I establish a trade route or begin a war with? Each turn that passes represents 1-2 years of a history unrealized and of the player’s intentional--or at times in my case--negligent design.

Civ6 can often feel like a digital power trip, but it’s so much more because of how it reminds the player about the real-life consequences of the decisions made by those in power. In Civ6, the boundary of a player’s power is defined by the agency of other players (real or not), the agency of one's citizens, and often geography of the world itself. Cities can starve, be conquered, choose to rebel, seek independence, or even join another nation. Each game is limited to 500 turns per player, but masochists and victims of the sunk cost fallacy may play on. At the time of writing this, I am on my 642^nd turn of my first game.

I can’t be the only one who enjoys the occasional power fantasy. As a first gen, I know it feels good to take control over the trajectory of your life. Like the British Special Air Service (SAS), we know "who dares, wins." It takes guts to apply, more to show up, and even more to keep showing up. 

Yet, there is a dark side of ambition that any student of history should know to be wary of. Watching and reading Hillbilly Elegy, it's hard to think that a young J.D. Vance—a first generation law student—would grow up and contribute such reprehensible actions such as firing the commander of 821^st Space Base Group in Greenland simply because she criticized the Trump Administration’s policy in the country. J.D. Vance also voiced support for a national abortion ban to prevent people from accessing care by crossing state lines in response to a shifting political climate. Because of actions like these, I believe it is wise to fear the corrupting nature of power.

In August 1971, psychologist Philip Zimbardo sought to investigate the effects of situational variables on the behavior of participants within a simulated prison environment. The participants, all college students, were each randomly assigned the role of either prisoner or security guard. Although the study was designed to go on for two weeks, the experiment had to be terminated after only six days due to severe abuses perpetrated by the guards. For many, this study is just one demonstration of the corrupting nature of authority. This conclusion may be unsurprising for those who are familiar with the old adage that "absolute power corrupts absolutely."

In my experience, "First and Onlys" are an ambitious lot. We have things to prove and people to prove wrong. However, as we’ve discussed in class, social mobility requires compromise and adaptation. As attorneys, we are very likely to be placed in positions of trust and authority and therefore are likely to become the targets forces with even greater power that seeking to accumulate more power or avoid negative consequences. Whether that takes the relatively mild form of pressure from a client to utilize certain unsavory tactics or something more severe like accepting campaign donations from a morally bankrupt corporation, we should be aware of the places our ambitions could take us.

 Saint Bernard of Clairvaux says the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I can't think of a single classmate who doesn't want to leave the world a better place. In other words, good intentions are abundant. Still, it would be naive to think we will always get things right, that we will always avoid standing on the wrong side of history. 

For example, I was recently frustrated to see many of my colleagues on the Law Student Association (LSA) refuse to acknowledge important democratic principles, even though they did so in pursuit of a cause as important and noble as the liberation of Palestine in the face of genocide. It is important to defend these principles (most notably here, the First Amendment prohibition against viewpoint discrimination), even when doing so is detrimental to causes we are passionate about. Failing to do so weakens these principles to be attacked by those with ill intent.

Playing Civ6 can feel a bit heavy if you keep in mind what each icon represents. Investments into infrastructure constitute multigenerational levels of effort and sacrifice. Every war I start or react to results in the loss of loyal soldiers. And yet the desire to conquer and to grow my territory remains. I have also found myself adopting policies whose utilization I would detest in the real world. For example, I have used espionage and razed disloyal cities for the sake of pursuing a utilitarian strategy because it is easier to win when my hands aren't tied by morality. Considering myself a good person and being unable to resist the corrupting desire to win and grow in power in Civ6 is a humbling contradiction that I have yet to resolve. After all, if--when no one is looking--we can't bind ourselves to our morals when the stakes are low, what chance do we have at making a moral and costly decision when the stakes are high?

I therefore encourage my fellow First and Onlys to hold themselves to a higher standard whenever possible and to inoculate themselves against the corrupting influence of power. The more difficult and costly the decision, the more prepared you will find yourself when the time comes. 

If you seek further inspiration, here is an example of a man who was able to hold onto his morality when faced with what he perceived to be certain nuclear apocalypse and justified retribution. May we all find such strength when we need it most, when tough decisions test our resolve to do good.

Meanwhile, as I grow into the lawyer and person I want to be, I'm going to enjoy my silly nation building game. But I will also hold it with me as a reminder of much more serious decisions that are sure to come.

Under resourced and under pressure

The wealth gap between the richest and the poorest in the U.S. continues to grow year after year. According to The Week, the top 10% of earners own about 69% of the wealth in the U.S., while the lowest 50% own 2.4% of the wealth. One factor driving the gap is education, as explained by Fisher and Mattson.

It is no surprise that individuals from wealthier backgrounds are more likely to be more educated than children of low-income families. But, it does not mean one cannot move up the socioeconomic ladder. In fact, these ambitious and hardworking individuals will be known as strivers, as described in Elizabeth Spiers’ "A Defense of Jeremy Strong (and all the Strivers With No Chill)." So-called strivers are usually first-generation college and graduate students. Spiers explains how strivers feel uneasy at higher education institutions because they tend to stick out and feel like they do not belong. Thus, a first-generation student is likely to encounter many obstacles on their path to earning a degree.

One obstacle that first-generation students face is the lack of network and resources.

A study by Andrew Van Dam revealed that 78% of Ph.D. students had at least one parent with a graduate degree, while only 6% of the students were first-generation. This meant continuing generation students had built-in networks, resources, knowledge, and a head start unknown — perhaps even unimaginable — to first-generation students.

As a first-generation law student, I did not realize how under-resourced I was until the moment I stepped foot onto my law school campus. I remember how my classmates would talk casually about getting outlines from upperclassmen and how their parents had connections to certain law firms. During the search for my 1L job, my lack of resources became apparent. I did not know anyone working at law firms nor did I know the importance of networking in the legal profession. It was thus harder for me to get my foot in the door.

These passing moments would often lead me to question whether I had made the right choice by going to law school.

Lisa Pruitt shares similar sentiments about being a first-generation law student. On one occasion, she remembers how her classmates biblically recited text from the book One L. She stated that she was not familiar with the book until the end of her first semester at law school.

A second obstacle first-generation students face is increasing pressure to do well in school.

Pressure can form from many stressors, and one factor in particular is income. An article by Hardy documents that the difference in the median annual income between college and high school graduates is about $22,000, which is the highest difference on record since the 1990s. Although all first-generation students are not low-income, Kristen Renn, a professor at Michigan State University, states that about 50% of first-generation students come from low-income backgrounds. After seeing their parents struggle to make ends meet, these first-generation low-income students will take it upon themselves to build a better life by pursuing high-paying jobs or living in a better neighborhood.

As a child of immigrant parents, this feels especially true for me. Both of my parents immigrated to the US from Punjab, India, and their journey to building a life within this country was not easy. I remember seeing my parents working really hard to make enough money for food and rent.

So, as a first-generation Punjabi American and the eldest daughter, I face an immense amount of pressure to get a good job and make good money. Otherwise, my parents may feel like their sacrifice was for nothing.

Other times, the pressure comes from learning how to balance being a good student while also being a good daughter or son.

Jennifer Morton, who teaches at City College of New York, sees an array of first-generation students striving for a middle-class lifestyle. On the podcast Hidden Brain, she explained that these students “end up feeling torn between doing the things that would seem to be required by being...a good grandson and doing the things that are required to be a successful student.”

During my first year of law school, I was constantly trying to learn how to balance school and family together. Oftentimes, I would spend countless hours on schoolwork throughout the week, just to allow myself some time to spend with my family on the weekends. I still remember feeling immense guilt when my grandmother told me, “I do not see you much anymore.”

Despite being under resourced and under pressure, I have always kept pushing. I have constantly reminded myself that it will all be worth it.

Do I have no chill?

As most people begin to wind their day down at 10 pm, my mind is still racing and I am still wide awake. The uneasiness of anxiety was starting to settle in. I ask myself, "is there something I forgot to do?" I began to go over a checklist in my head to see if there was an assignment or something that I forgot to do. When I cleared that checklist, I went onto the Calendar app on my phone to see what I have scheduled for the next day, it was an effort to see if there was something I missed that could explain why I was in bed so early.

This wasn't the first night I had this kind of anxiety. It reminded me a bit of Elizabeth Spiers' article, A Defense of Jeremy Strong (and All the Strivers with No Chill). There has always been this familial pressure to succeed and make the most out of the opportunity of my parent's sacrifice to immigrate to the United States. So, I grew up with pressure from my parents to succeed. When I was old enough to realize the opportunity I had, I put that pressure on myself. This pressure has continued in my goal of going to law school and even now while I'm in law school. Although I did not know of the name at the time, I was really pushed to partake in "hustle culture." It was constantly drilled into me that hard work pays off and a strong work ethic leads to achievement. 

The article discusses a critique on corporate culture, focusing on the "unsustainably long work hours, cutthroat competitiveness...", which reminded me of my own path to law school. I come from a community where we are taught to strive for at least UCs. So, at a young age, my schedule was packed with extracurriculars. On weekdays, I would head to school around 7 am, and I probably won't be home until about twelve hours later.  I was in summer school every summer until the summer before college. I was in at least one sport at all times. Sometimes I would be in Chinese school or tutoring sessions for some other subject. Part of it was that my parents didn't want me to just be at home and not doing anything. Another part is that I needed to pack my resume with extracurriculars and that my grades needed to be top-tier. Even as I started college and law school, in places where I did not have someone pushing me nor was there a need to be this much of a workhorse, I continued this "striving with no chill". I used to joke with my friends that I was uncomfortable with having free time. One of my friends pointed out that every time we talked, I seemed to have a new thing that I was doing. 

When we started law school during the pandemic, it didn't sit well with me that I didn't have any extracurricular activities. I felt like I needed to keep busy and have a full resume. Although there was a  heavy emphasis on my academics, I still felt the need to pack my schedule with other things. So, I joined student government, a clinic, and a journal. It was a lot. Honestly, it was a bit too much. I really could have done without one of these extracurriculars. 

As I got more involved through the year, I met a lot of other "strivers with no chill." I remember distinctly that there was this 3L, who had a significant paragraph of a list of all the positions he was holding at the time as an email signature. That pushed me to have heavy schedules for my 2L and 3L years. 3L has been a constant juggle between taking time to de-stress and the guilt of taking time away from my studies, work, and responsibilities. 

I'm realizing now that I am about to achieve what I strove for. I am about to leave education for the final time and enter the "real world." I wonder if I can finally stop striving not chill and enjoy what I have worked so hard to build. Because the one thing I learned about the pandemic is that this level of work is not sustainable and that a healthy work-life balance is very important to get through work. Another question that emerged from this blog post is "this all worth striving for?" I've been feeling so drained. I barely have the energy to do my readings, and I haven't really been outlining my classes. Has keeping myself so busy these past years, really been worth it?

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.