A hopeful note to self

 Dear 1L Michaela,

Welcome to your grad school journey. I’m proud of you for making it this far, I know you’ve been through a lot, and as I know people have been telling you, grad school is a test at every turn. But you’re more than ready, you have everything you need. So why am I writing to you? Well, the world is in a place that keeps saying that we need “You”— the “royal” “you.” Like we need every single person to show up with all the heart and care possible right now as we hopefully try to navigate toward futures of healing. So you’ve known this for a while, but it’s going to take a lot of organizing. I wanted to give you some encouragement as you start, some guidance as you go. As you know a lot can change in a short period of time, and I figure it may be good to have a few head’s up. I’ll try to minimize the spoilers..!

Stay on your path. You’ve chosen an unconventional one. People will have questions, they’ll have doubts, they’ll be surprised or disheartening, they’ll be encouraging and challenging. You can hear the advice, you should listen to the people who know and care for you, but ultimately, the decisions are yours. I don’t mean to put pressure on you by saying that, I know how much decisions have been a source of confusion or anxiety for you in the past. Take a breath. Staying in the in-between, in the potentiating space of “well, what else? What if?” has been a source of strength and experience for you too. Lean into that! Remember when you came up with the word “fundeclared” in undergrad? Take heart from that— it’s okay to let it all unfold! You will have to make decisions, and some of them will be hard of course, but keep listening for your yes in each step. So far so good.

 

You’ll do what needs to be done. The phrase “We are the ones we have been waiting for” has been attributed to Black feminist elders and ancestors Alice Walker and June Jordan (your favorite, I know!), and you get the opportunity to live it in this chapter. There will come moments when the language of “justice” isn’t enough, when diversity/ equity/ inclusion or even decolonization are perceived of as just thought experiments to the people around you, and you will often need to be the one to speak out in the contrary, to make these ideals actionable. Embrace it. You’ll host workshops and reading groups, you’ll organize group studies and lead lectures. You’ll know when it’s time, because you’ll feel a gap in the room, this small space in time when that whisper in your head that is saying “this could all be different, this could all feel so much better” wants and needs to be voiced. Trust that sense, you can help build new things from it.

You won’t do it alone. I know that starting off in the physical isolation that COVID-19 has brought is difficult to navigate. But you will find your people, and then you’ll find them again and again and again. You’ll choose relationships and community and spaces that keep you nurtured and whole, that you’ll want for the rest of your life. You’ll grow together through this, stay open to the lessons. Seek out the training and experiences from your peers, from your community that can open your mind to the various strategies and perspectives that keep movements vibrant and thriving. The mentors you find and choose will see your potential and fan its flames. You’ll be so incredibly grateful. Like Audre Lorde said, “without community, there is no liberation.” Keep telling each of them how much you love them on purpose. 

Do it joyfully. Listen, I’m not saying that you have to have a fake optimism about all the things that you and your fam and this world will go through, not at all, I’d never ask you to fake an emotion. But, bb, like Mariame Kaba says, “hope is a discipline,” and part of making that constant practice work is cherishing each and every small joy to sustain you. Water your plants like you could nurture the whole planet with this act. Laugh with your friends even when your heart is in the depths of grief. Bask in sunshine with your besties. Dance in the department store with your crush, let them push you around in a shopping cart. Play music, sing, say yes to experiencing the things you long toward. Keep the emergency brownie mix on deck and bring it to your beloveds too.

Stay soft. In the systems that seek to harden you, in the work that feels so insurmountable, nurture your tenderness, keep your compassion, believe in the loving ethic that maintains the beauty in life. Take care of yourself, of your body and mind in the kindest ways you can.

I know you were expecting more concrete action items from this letter, Mx. Capricorn-Sun Virgo-Rising. But the reality of organizing in this time is that you have to be open to it in exactly the way you are needed (and like I said, we are all needed). So you can start small, my love, because as you know by now, you have to start somewhere. 

You got this.

With care,

Michaela

"Ladybird" and self-reflection

Many people have heard of the Greta Gerwig-directed film Ladybird. I have come to love this film. Underneath its critical and popular success, I think that there is a story that many of us (especially those who are first gen) can relate to.

*Light spoiler warning*

Ladybird is a film about a Sacramento native high school student who grows up resenting where she is from and her “small-town” background. While she is not technically first gen, there are many parallels and the family struggles financially. Ladybird, the main character, desires for nothing more than to leave and settle on the East Coast where she perceives culture to be. She is unappreciative generally. On the other hand, her mother likes to hold their financial situation over her head. The father is a big softie. After moving to New York for college, Ladybird realizes her nostalgia and appreciation of where she is from.

I relate to this film on many levels. I wanted to be out of Michigan for so long. I feel immense nostalgia for it now that I am gone. I can honestly say that I have had some of the same arguments with my mother that she had with hers. Anger, guilt, class-passing, and nostalgia are salient themes in the film.

Another interesting parallel is that the place she so desperately wanted to get out of is sort of where I ended up! The film itself has stirred up a lot of nostalgia for me and appreciation of both where I am from and the Sacramento area. I highly recommend the film as a casual watch and as content for this course.

A big part of the film is financial pressure. Ladybird wants to attend a university out of state. The first scene in the film results in an argument between Ladybird and her mother over the cost of attending college out of state. Despite Ladybird trying to make her aware of financial aid and scholarship opportunities, her mother won’t budge. Though the mother does not explain herself, I can’t help thinking that she was trying to prevent her daughter from bearing the burden of student debt.

In the end of the film, not much is resolved. I could say the same for myself. While my career trajectory is ostensibly set, the path forward is not. It’s funny to watch to the film, identify with the main character so much, and simultaneously dislike her. She is unappreciative, misguided, and phony. And yet, I completely understand her.

Defeating imposter syndrome with female empowerment

No matter what your identity is, every person has at some point felt the overwhelming sense that they don't belong. Whether that be at a social event, the classroom, a professional setting, or even in their own home, imposter syndrome affects us all. 

But what is imposter syndrome? Imposter syndrome is the psychological experience of feeling like a phony, like you do not deserve to be where you are because you are not qualified. Despite this, those that struggle with imposter syndrome...

do not look ill at ease or uncomfortable. They appear very self confident but really it's just a mask they wear. And they are absolutely sincere in being unable to accept praise. It has nothing to do with false modesty. They are perfectionists who need to perform flawlessly and equate making a mistake with shame and humiliation. They often feel very guilty about the credit they receive for their achievements. 

This quote is from In Her Own Words (October 1985). 

Specifically in graduate students, imposter syndrome has shown to be extremely debilitating. 

In 2020, the Division of Cancer Epidemiology & Genetics conducted a systematic review of 62 studies which evaluated the prevalence of imposter syndrome. Showing prevalence rates as high as 56% to 82% in graduate students, college students, nurses, medical students, and other professions. Symptoms can include distress, anxiety, depression, burnout, exhaustion, avoidance of high-level tasks, rigid thinking, and dismissal of positive feedback.

National Cancer Institute, Division of Cancer Epidemiology & Genetics (2023).

I know for myself imposter syndrome is something I struggle with daily. It is one of the main reasons I am so eager to graduate law school––to get out of this setting that triggers feelings of inadequacy.

Constant exposure to environments where I am made to feel like I am not good enough has become exhausting for me. The mental gymnastics I go through to prove to myself that I am good enough is a routine that I am hoping comes to an end when I finally have a law degree. 

However pervasive imposter syndrome may be in the law school setting, I am even more concerned about it in the work force. This past semester I have been fortunate enough to have the opportunity to extern at a public defender's office in the felony intake department. Unfortunately, I have found this experience to be one that has had a detrimental effect on my self-confidence. The reason? Working exclusively with male attorneys.

 

After this semester, I feel as though I have a gaping hole in my self-worth that I will have to fill before I begin my post bar position. What troubles me more is that other female interns (who are also women of color) have had the same experience in this office, which is a stark contrast to the male interns that seem to be content with their intern experience. 

Everyday after work I would have to remind myself that I have spent well over half of my law school career in public defender offices. I know the ins and outs of how a PD office works and I know I have the capability to learn how to do my job right and go above and beyond if given the opportunity.

The main takeaway from this intern experience for me has been that as an attorney, I will make it my mission to pay it forward and empower female interns around me. Without the mentorship of female attorneys, I would not be zealously pursuing public defense work like I am today. Female mentors have taught me how to write, research, and speak in court. I owe them everything. 

I suppose it was unlucky that I got to know what NOT to do as an attorney working with interns, on such a personal level.

My opinion is not an unpopular one. Mentorship has been shown to be a valuable development resource for women. Dr. Candace Steele Flippin, a scholar and researcher who focuses on women in the workforce, conducted a study in 2017 titled Gen X Women and Career Advancement. This study found that women who lack mentorship experiences have careers associated with unfavorable outcomes such as restricted careers and diminished job performance. 

Comparatively women who did have mentorship experiences reported to have skills in career planning, leadership, and self efficacy. Fifty-three percent of females in the study reported that their most helpful mentor was female.

As evidenced by the study, women need women to look up to and support each other. In a male dominated career field, I know for a fact that without the female attorneys that guided me, I would not have faith in my own ability to be a successful public defender. I am able to have some sense of self assurance because of those who came before me––those who have shown me that I can do it, too. 

Are we part of the problem?

One of the biggest issues the United States faces today is extreme political polarization. From presidential elections to recent Supreme Court nomination hearings, our nation has become increasingly divided—and sharply so. It has been well documented that education—particularly the possession of a college degree—is one of the major factors that have caused this divide. That is, people holding a bachelor’s degree or higher have increasingly trended towards the Democratic party, while those who do not have moved toward the Republican party. This so called “diploma-divide” has been well documented by scholars and in the news. This polarization can perhaps be best seen by looking at the 2016 presidential election. Donald Trump won two-thirds of all white voters without a college degree, while Clinton won decisively among those with a college degree or higher. How, then, do first-generation voters fit into the picture?

I believe that first-generation immigrants are uniquely positioned to understand both sides of this sharp political divide. Many of us have grown up households where our families did not complete higher education before moving on to college ourselves. As we do not come from generations of college graduates, it naturally would make sense that this would be the case. Despite our unique position, why then does it seem like we are bystanders to such an important issue?

If you asked immigrant families for their views regarding education, it would be rare to find one that does not want their children to attend college. My family was no different. For me, the journey to college began in the eighth grade with the Specialized Highschool Admissions Test, or SHSAT, to obtain admission into one of New York City’s “Specialized High Schools.” These schools have become as reputable as many prestigious undergraduate institutions, with Stuyvesant, Bronx Science and Brooklyn Technical High School boasting national reputations. Every year, about 26,000 students take the test, but only about 4,000 students are accepted into these elite public high schools. After high school, I headed to college. Soon after that, I was on to law school. In contrast, my friends who came from families with a long history of college education did not have such pressure. College was simply an option, and they were more willing to pursue alternative options after high school.

It is no secret that many institutions of higher education are left leaning. I would say that I also am a left-leaning individual, and I would be lying if I denied that countless college classes, never mind the law school curriculum, have affected my worldview. Many, if not all my first-generation friends who completed college, consider themselves left leaning, even if they –like me—profess little interest in politics. I would not be surprised if their education influenced their thought processes in ways similar to mine. Despite our generally lefty political posture, if asked to name a first-generation friend who actively participates in avenues of change, I would not be able to do so. The fact that my friends are not interested in politics may simply be a function of my lack of interest in politics.

Broadly speaking, I think this may stem from the fact that my friends and I have such low levels of representation at the highest level. Currently, only 28% of the house and 12% of the senate identifies as Black, Hispanic, Asian American, American Indian, or multiracial. If we do not see people that come from the same backgrounds as us in positions of power, it is only natural for us to be more reluctant to voice our political opinions to our representatives.

Another source contributing to this issue may be input from our families. Asian Americans have long been viewed as a “model minority” because our culture teaches us to work hard and stay in our own lane. Since first generation families like mine have long viewed education both in high regard and as a means of upward mobility, I can see how difficult it can be to relate to those who vilify those with college degrees.

I can’t definitively say what is causing this bystander effect within the first-generation population, and I can only speak to my personal experience and what I have witnessed throughout the course of my life. What I can say, however, is that this divide is undoubtedly growing and will continue to be a huge issue for the foreseeable future. I only hope that as more students from immigrant families obtain higher education, more of us will become willing to actively participate in politics.

Mental boom

"Where did we go wrong?" 

The haunting question no child wants to hear from their parents. Guilt and shame washes over as I think, what is wrong with me? I grew up in a similar environment as any other Asian American, and yet everyone else seems to have turned out fine. I'm envious of people who don't have that little voice in their head constantly speaking, creating scenarios, bringing up anxiety.

Will I abandon my family, or will they abandon me first?

The method which Korean American parents tend to raise their children is called ga-jung-kyo-yuk. The emphasis is on family, "ga-jung" meaning family and "kyo-yuk" meaning education. Respect your elders was one of the rules, and breaking any rule meant corporal punishment, typically getting hit on the calves or raising my arms above my head for a prolonged time. Sometimes they even threatened to kick me out of the house, although I believe they actually would not. My parents never forgot to remind me that they had it worse when they grew up, and that I should be thankful for receiving less severe punishments. 

My parents, along with many other Korean parents, expressed their warmth indirectly. Their sacrifices should have been enough to show how much they love me. I often got into arguments with my father because I would act coldly to him. It was always the same response, "wait till you get your own son and you'll understand exactly how I feel", "how do you not understand the love I'm showing you." To this day it's hard for me to understand.

Whenever I talk with my parents, they always bring up how nice it would be for me to go back to Texas after graduating. Work while living with my parents so I won't have to worry about the financial costs of living alone and away from them. Pointing out how my sister lives near them, and because of that they're able to take care of her baby. I simply laugh and respond with "sure, sure," not letting them know how suffocated I feel by the idea.

Maybe I should see mental health services or a therapist while I'm away from home. Discussing mental health concerns is considered taboo in many Asian cultures and as a result Asian Americans tend to dismiss, deny or neglect their symptoms. Countless times I thought, I don't have the right to feel this way; so many people have had it worse than me; I'm simply overreacting and need to get over it; don't burden my parents any more than I already have. Seeking professional help results in parents asking, "where did we go wrong?" 

Regardless of who is to blame, seeking mental health help should not be frowned upon. Instead, it should be encouraged, for the person's bravery in acknowledging something may be wrong, and for actively stepping forward to do something about it. If my sister's child ever has the need to seek help, I'll remind her to instead ask, "how can we help?"

Reflecting on “Class Matters”

Ever wonder how the service workers in affluent communities afford to live where they work? The simple answer is that most service workers, or public servants do not live in the region that they serve the community. In The New York Time’s piece, “Class Matters”, they claim that in Alpharetta, fewer than one third of city employees lived in the city. My parents, who were county employees in Contra Costa County, commuted two hours to work every day. Rich communities still need teachers, firefighters, law enforcement workers, landscapers, plumbers, and grocery store clerks, and yet, the people who man these jobs and dedicate 40 hours of there week in the community, are priced out, left to leave the affluent cities and commute back home, only to get up and do it again the next day. What would a community look like if it was served by people who were welcome to be there, and not just when they are performing labor?

The article also talks about class differences in interpersonal relationships. The couple discussed in the article differ in class background. The wife’s family was better off than the husband’s and they differ on what kind of car they want to drive, how much money they spend on self-care, and if their kids will have jobs. Although both my parents did not go to college, my mother was well off growing up and father was not. 

My mom’s parents are educated. When my mom was growing up, her mother was the lead nurse in labor and delivery, later becoming a high member on the administrative side of health care, and her father was a pharmacist. My father, on the other hand, grew up poor. His mother was an immigrant, she stayed at home and took care of the house and the four kids, his father was a mechanic in the military. Although my parents shared the same job title, I saw how their different upbringings affected the way they lived life. In general, my mom is a spender, and my dad is a saver. My mom loves to go out to eat and my dad never cares to. Even the foods they like differ. The first time my dad met my mom’s parents, they went to a nice restaurant and ordered artichoke as an appetizer. My dad ate the leaf whole, not knowing how one is supposed to eat an artichoke. We joke about it now and he says that artichoke is “rich white people food”. My mom thinks hamburger helper is gross, but my dad loves it and said it was a staple in their house growing up. My mom has always appreciated nice things, nice furniture, nice clothing, and a pretty home. She always jokes that she has “champagne taste on a beer budget”.

When we lost our house in 2009 due to the housing crash and recession, we moved into this old dusty rental in the countryside of Vacaville. The house was small and dated and the carpets smelt weird. I don’t remember how my dad felt about living in the rental, but I remember my mom hated not owning her own home, she hated being at the whims of a landlord. We grew to accept and even love our new place, though. When my mom invited her parents over for the first time at Christmas, they left after thirty minutes and said that they didn’t like being at our house, it was trash. My mom went to her room and sobbed.

I guess class matters.

It’s okay to breathe

Before this class, I had not taken the time to reflect on my journey throughout higher education and my identity. Now, I have noticed I am a combination of multiple identities: a first-generation college student, a woman of color, and the eldest daughter of immigrant parents. Strangely enough, all of these identities are deeply intertwined with one another.

One identity I have yet to reflect on is being the eldest daughter of immigrant parents. Some writers, like Megan Wallace, have described this experience as the eldest daughter syndrome. The label is not a psychological condition but rather a phenomenon that describes how eldest daughters often “[pick] up the mental load for the family” and become a “third parent” for their younger siblings.

Parenting becomes difficult when the couple moves to a foreign nation. While trying to assimilate to a new culture, they are learning how to be parents and raise a child in a multicultural setting.

Jacqueline Delgadillo, the eldest daughter of immigrant parents, writes how her parents encouraged her to go after the American Dream, but she discovered the dream was not what it seemed at first glance. In pursuit of this dream, she constantly tried to be the perfect role model for her siblings, while her siblings were not afraid to break the rules.

Similar to Delgadillo, I have also felt the burden of being the perfect role model for my siblings. It was always a constant balance between an academically excelling student and a dutiful daughter. The main reason for maintaining this balance was for two reasons. First, I felt my good grades were proof that my parents’ sacrifice in moving to this country had a purpose. Second, I felt being the responsible daughter demonstrated I had not forgotten my cultural roots. As a result, this placed considerable pressure on me for years.

Although her parents were not immigrants, Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor is another notable eldest daughter of Puerto Rican-born parents. In her memoir My Beloved World, she described how she learned to cultivate “existential independence” from a young age because Sotomayor felt all the adults in her life were unreliable.

Like Sotomayor, I have realized I have created a heightened sense of independence. For example, I remember multiple group projects in high school where I had to take the lead or complete most of the project. So, I always grew up thinking that the only person I could rely on was myself.

Due to the constant pressure of perfectionism and hyper-independence, I felt overwhelmed by the smallest task because I was afraid of the negative consequences and the uncertainty. Whenever I would start an assignment, the first thing I would think about was how it could go wrong. However, I did not notice the extent of my “glass half empty” persona until one of my college friends asked me why I was in such a frenzy for sending a simple email to my professor.

It is not until you reflect that you can start to heal. So, what have I done to heal?

I learned the importance of balance and prioritizing myself. As the eldest daughter, I always felt it was necessary to overlook every aspect of my siblings’ lives. What are they doing? What classes are they taking? Will they reach their goal? It is something I have done my whole life, whether it was helping them with their homework or picking them up from school.

I realized I needed to let my siblings live life without my constant worry and I needed to take the time to focus solely on my goals.

Healing does not happen overnight. I am constantly learning where to draw the line between when am I being helpful and when am I doing everything myself. The pressure of being the eldest daughter and law school can feel like I am constantly swimming without enough oxygen. A swimmer can only swim so long before breaking to the surface.

So, I have understood it is okay to take a second and breathe. It is only when we reflect, we truly learn how to become better.

It’s time to organize (part II: inspirations)

Inhale (deep breath, an inspiration). When I posted my first blog, I featured a photo of myself standing at the apartheid wall that separates the West Bank from settlements in occupied Palestine. I didn’t expect that what this visual represents would take such a center stage for so many so soon. Since starting to draft this third blog, the collective conscience of the world has been fracturing. These are the only words I can use to describe watching the horror of escalated genocide and ethnic cleansing unfold on our phones daily while we continue to move between the day to day tasks of law school and life. Despite the anguish, rage, grief, our student body has been pushing onward, with as much care as we can muster. Unless folks have remained willfully uninformed, I haven’t seen an area of the law school that hasn’t been affected by the ongoing genocide in Gaza that is in large part funded and supported by the US.  

 

In the past month, I have been constantly reminded that our legacies matter so far beyond individual “successes” but more meaningfully toward what future we are creating. We get to (and must) choose the paths forward. This is why the American Bar Association messages standing against repression matter, the National Lawyers Guild unequivocal support for liberation and critical engagement matter, why I’m so proud of my own LSA (law student government) for the statement we released on October 24 after intentional time hearing from students, having multiple meetings and votes in order to support our community and call for a ceasefire. I’ve been so inspired by my mentors, my friends, my community, students, laborers, journalists, people of conscience. Right now, especially, it feels like we’re looking for inspiration. Inspiration to do the “right” thing, to do the hard thing, to do anything.

 

In my previous blog post, I briefly mentioned a few inspirational folks in my journey who I never met: Assata Shakur, Thurgood Marshall, Martin Luther King Jr. I felt inspired by a former classmate’s post about how Tyler the Creator influenced her college journey, and I planned this follow-up post to continue to explore the inspirational folks that we look to as we organize as law students (or whomever we may be) for better futures for all. What I had planned to share when first writing this post was about the legacies we engage when we look to our inspirational leaders. What I have instead is these musings and by way of my original topic, I’ll highlight an elder of conscience who I continue to look to in times of political chaos. While celebrity culture is not something I endorse, we see that folks who have become idols in popular culture can certainly use their platforms in meaningful ways (shout out to Kehlani, to Macklemore (?!?!), to Kid Cudi, Jamila Woods, and so many more folks who have decidedly chosen to speak out against ongoing atrocities in the past month in such ways as Artists Against Apartheid). What I wanted to talk about was living into the legacy of people like the namesake of our law school. What I am saying is that we still have the opportunity to do so.

 

The elder of conscience I wanted to highlight who influenced my journey is Angela Davis. The night this photo was taken at Busboys & Poets in Washington, DC, I was in the throws of wanting to drop out of school to become a “full-time activist.” I was advised by beloveds that this was not an “actual career plan,” and encouraged rather that sometimes we should stick to the status quo. Having the honor to enjoy a pastry (my favorite thing) in conversation with Angela Davis, I asked her thoughts on whether I should stay in school. When I shared that I had only one semester left until graduation, she said, unequivocally yes, finish out if it is right for me. So I stayed, and I graduated, and I hurt and I learned and I grew, and here I am, cultivating a path on which I deliberately include organizing, activism, art, joy, my passions and people I care deeply about. This is in small part because of the conversation I had, but in larger part because of the ongoing learning from mentors and community and from leaders like Dr. Davis. The revolutionary author of Freedom is a Constant Struggle (relevant for our current times) as well as a number of other essays and books has consistently shown the true nature of not only a revolutionary, but also an activist-academic. I recently hung a timeline of Dr. Davis’s life to date on the wall in my office that I got as a souvenir from an exhibit at the OMCA. I wanted a reminder that the time we spend matters. 

 

I’ve been privileged to continue to witness and learn from activist-academics in practice (starting from my own mother) through mentors I have gained while in graduate school. What I am currently considering is that facing down the worst parts of what our humanity is capable of is not disconnected from what we puzzle over in the classrooms… atrocities we read about in textbooks are not just thought experiments, there are human lives connected to each loss, each law, each choice. The devastation in the world weighs heavily on my heart and mind, but/and I’m privileged and grateful to be where I am right now, working toward the legacy that stops these kinds of atrocities in their tracks before they can be carried out against anyone else. 

We can choose who we take inspiration from. We can become inspirational. More on this next time. As I continue to think through this moment and what it means for all of us, I’ll end with an excerpt from the poem that starts Assata Shakur’s biography, as an exhale (breathe out):

 

Affirmation

“I have been locked by the lawless. 

Handcuffed by the haters.

Gagged by the greedy.

And, if i know any thing at all,

it’s that a wall is just a wall

and nothing more at all.

It can be broken down.

 

I believe in living. 

I believe in birth.

I believe in the seat of love 

and the fire of truth.

 

And i believe that a lost ship, 

steered by tired, seasick sailors, 

can still be guided home

to port.”

West vs. Midwest

This past weekend a middle-aged woman from the Bay Area asked where I was from. I told her, “I'm from Michigan.” Her response: “Oh I’m sorry.” Curiously, another gay man from Michigan was present at this gathering. His sentiments echoed hers – he was glad to be out. People view non-coastal states as provincial, backward, and ultimately boring.

I live with a constant tension. Why did I leave Michigan when I claim to love it so much and constantly defend it? What Californians think of Michigan isn’t entirely untrue. There is a larger and more visible socially conservative population. This is a fact. The State of Michigan is very effectively gerrymandered in favor of the GOP. The topography is relatively flat. There is a lot of agriculture. There is only one somewhat major city.

Until actually moving to another part of the county, I also thought that Michigan was devoid of culture. California is a beautiful state and I love it here. I love the diversity, the ostensibly progressive politics, the beautiful topography, and perhaps most of all the Pacific. Would I move back to Michigan? Despite how much I will “go to bat” for the state, I don’t see myself moving back at this time but the possibility is becoming increasingly more likely.

I have gotten too used to having easy access to cities known worldwide. I have gotten too used to the Sierras being only a couple of hours away. I have gotten too used to the thought of living in San Francisco near the sea. Maybe there is a reason that there are no songs about Detroit akin to Tony Bennett’s “I Left My Heart In San Francisco.”

All things being said, absence really does make the heart grow fonder. Truths and historical facts about Michigan that I have always known, but never really acknowledged, have become center-stage in my mind and the topic of my speech when people ask about my home.

Here is what you won’t hear about Michigan from California elites: Techno music was first popularized in America in my hometown; the Detroit area is home to a many thriving communities of color; Hamtramck (originally a Polish enclave) is the United State’s first and only Muslim majority city; Motown was invented here; Michigan borders the largest lake in the country; one of the largest labor unions in the country was founded there; Michigan became the first English-Speaking government in the world to abolish the death penalty.

All to say, I have given up on perpetuating negativity about an economically important and diverse region of the country for the sake of class-passing.

A new conceptualization of whiteness

Since I came to some sort of consciousness about race and the prevalence of it, whiteness has been a topic that consumed much of my teenage years and young adulthood. Having grown up in Chandler, Arizona surrounded by white peers and subjected to copious amounts of bullying for my very non-white appearance, I grew resentful of white people and the privileges that were afforded to them for simply being white. 

The white girls at my school always had the most friends, the best clothes, and an abundance of attention. My social capital paled (no pun intended!) in comparison and I was deemed a loser for all intents and purposes. I took every step a child could take to assimilate into white culture and have my appearance reflect that. 

I shaved my arms behind my mother's back and tried to clumsily tweeze my eyebrows. I asked my mom for Victoria Secret leggings and Uggs because it was what all the white girls that mocked me wore. I was so angered by the fact that no matter what I did to make myself look "prettier" I never got the attention that the white girls did. As Dagmar Myslinska wrote in Contemporary First-Generation European Americans: The Unbearable "Whiteness" of Being:

I consciously tried to 'Americanize' myself. I avoided or, at least, felt ambivalent about  having ties to other polish immigrants, and I prided myself on being more American than most of them. In fact, I took it to be a sign of my acculturation when I was able to  spot less assimilated immigrants by their hairstyles, modes of dress, and body language that set them apart as being fresh-off-the-boat.  

(Mylinska, 2014). 

Now you might be wondering why I referenced a white woman's words when speaking about assimilating into whiteness. The point I am trying to make is that the particular brand of whiteness I was aspiring to was unachievable, even for some white people. It was a unique brand of white suburban American whiteness that one could only be born into.

After many years of struggling with my identity, I chose to take college classes focused on critical race theory. They helped me to conceptualize whiteness––what it meant and, why it mattered, and how it related to why I was the target for relentless bullying throughout my childhood. While whiteness is a social construct, the meaning we gave to it as individuals is what allowed it to have detrimental effects on people of color, and at times, white people (take for example Myslinska's piece).

I went out in to the world uncomfortably aware of my non-white self. This was exacerbated by the fact that in the upper middle class suburb of Chandler, Arizona, where I lived, white people were everywhere. And they were not exactly friendly. 

So much of that changed, however, when I moved to Davis and started law school.

Here in Davis I immediately took note of the diversity. Maybe diversity isn't even the right word for it due to the small population of Black and Hispanic students here. Nevertheless, what I saw was an absence of overpowering whiteness. 

Whites make up about 60 percent of the Davis population. While white people remain a majority, what made it seem like the white population was so much smaller was the population of Asian people, accounting for 23 percent of this university town's population. I saw many more people that looked like me and shared my culture. I felt immensely comforted by that.

However, whiteness has a way of working its way into spaces. I recognized that there was a distinct pattern in who spoke up the most in class and whose group of friends felt the most exclusive. In Davis, while there was no outright displays of micro/macro aggressions like there were back home, in Chandler, I still saw how white people navigated their whiteness, albeit in a different way. It just took me a little bit longer to recognize that. 

It seemed like because the white people here were "leftists," that absolved them of any harm they could inflict with their identity, with their skin color. Maybe they thought the space they took up was inconsequential because they were self aware and were doing work to undo the effects of whiteness.

Unfortunately, resisting the toxicity of whiteness is never that simple. As much as I genuinely find the environment here preferable to what I experience in Arizona, there is much work to be done to prevent the isolation of people of color. As Camille Gear Rich writes in Marginal Whiteness, 

whites are generally aware that being white provides them with certain 'statistical advantages,' and potentially with cultural capital; yet they do not perceive how these advantages assist them on a day-to-day basis.

(Rich, 2010).

I have no answer for how to go about solving the issues that whiteness presents. In all honesty, I don't think there is one.