Jeannine Schroeder Women in Public Service Memorial Scholarship

While technology often receives appropriate criticism, as a STEM major, my career in computer science will allow me to develop fantastic solutions that unite communities around issues to help deliver equity, accessibility, and inclusivity in our communities, as I have over the past several years. For example, I have built a technology foundation for decreasing youth sports participation in my community, which impacts kids physically, mentally, socially, and emotionally. According to the Sports & Fitness Industry Association, only 38 percent of kids ages 6 to 12 play team sports today, down from 45 percent in 2008. Project Play reports that families spend about $700 yearly on their kids’ sports, while The Rand Study reveals that families earning below $50,000 say that cost is largely why their kids stop playing. Further research shows that 75 percent of 12-year-olds drop sports annually. My family had a garage filled with outgrown gear, from cleats and bats to gloves and bags, from my sister and me that we didn't know what to do with. I realized unused equipment must be scattered in homes across our community. I thought about how to build a technology bridge to connect this unused gear with the sidelined kids who needed it. From this, the idea of Play It Forward (fb.com/PlayItForwardGear) was born in 2018. The initiative collects donated sports equipment across soccer, baseball, softball, lacrosse, and field hockey to provide free to kids so they can play. Stanford University research shows that simply playing sports benefits kids with better vision, healthier weight, elevated motor and social skills, and improved self-confidence. It also teaches teamwork, perseverance, and leadership. The lynchpin to Play It Forward’s success is technology. It leverages social platforms and communication tools to educate and engage supporters and inventory management systems to track and distribute donated equipment to kids. Play It Forward connects, engages, and motivates residents to participate in and promote the program. Over the past five years, Play It Forward has collected 6,800+ items worth ~$273,000, equipping 570+ kids from eight surrounding communities. The program has been honored with the Girl Scout Gold Award, the President George H.W. Bush Point of Light Award, the Union League of Philadelphia Good Citizenship Award, the National Liberty Museum Young Hero Medal, a U.S. Congressional commendation, and a Pennsylvania Legislative citation for service leadership. However, the most significant validation is seeing kids' smiles when they receive their own gear. As a first-year Villanova University computer science major with a 4.0 GPA, an Amie Dansby Women in Technology National Award recipient, and a VIP Women in Technology National Scholar, I am now focusing on advancing my technology skills and programming talents to deliver more advanced elegant solutions to address growing societal challenges. Play It Forward is just one example of how my STEM education can help improve the world by using technology solutions that connect, engage, and motivate communities to help those in need around us, creating a more equitable, accessible, and inclusive society for us all.

Walking up the blood-stained white marble steps of the US Capitol, I felt a tear escape from the corner of my copper-colored eyes. The wedding ring on my light-brown right hand dimmed in the faint lighting as my fingers glazed over the forty columns in the Crypt of the Capitol. Its pillars illuminated the scars left behind from the tool marks that the slaves had used to build this sanctuary of liberty. A shiver ran down my spine as I remembered the painful memories of the history that bled the path to my future. My memory transports me back to Ethiopia: Addis Ababa, 1999. My sweet mother smiles; her wedding ring shimmers as the beaming sun radiates upon her calm face. Despite her peaceful facade, she fretted as her enraged father strived to kill her for becoming a Christian in an anti-Protestant society. Disowned by her family, she was left with a ring, a visa, and 300 dollars. While fleeing to the land of the free, fear gripped her mind as she pondered her circumstances: “Am I qualified to live in America?” Tears escaped from her eyes as she examined the dimming ring. However, as she took steps onto American soil, determination implanted within her heart. She held dearly onto that determination through the struggles of homelessness in America. Working in a motel, my mother scraped together dollar bills to save up for an apartment in a drug-infested area. Though struggling to learn English, she completed community college. While raising two headstrong babies, she accomplished her dreams of becoming a nurse. She took the rough carbon rock in her way and transformed it into a gleaming diamond. She had finally accomplished the American dream. Sixteen years after her transition, it is now 2014 in Aurora, Colorado. My mother sits me down inside our brightly-lit home. My 10 year-old-eyes widened as she pulled off the wedding ring from her finger and slid it onto mine. She whispered, “This is why I came to America.” As I heard her story, my ears tingled with fascination. Gazing at my mother, I saw courage flicker within her glowing brown eyes. Looking down at the stunning ring, I wondered: “Can I mirror the courageous tenacity my mother formed?” Frightened by this confrontation, I resorted to isolation as my slight stutter and Ethiopian accent hindered my speaking abilities. Taking my first steps on Cornell University’s campus, an overwhelming feeling of insignificance washed over me. However, I cultivated these feelings into action. As Co-President of Compass, I aim to build an uplifting community for at-risk youth impacted by the criminal justice system at George Junior Republic School via after-school clubs. Through these clubs, I cook and bake with youth involved with the prison system to uplift them to go beyond their situations. I participated in a program hosted by STRONG Youth; I encouraged youth impacted by gang and gun violence to attend college. Within the Prison Reform Education Project, I read and collected letters written by inmates and published them to the Cornell community to spread awareness of the criminal justice system’s horrors. I took a deep breath as I walked into the Capitol; unknowingly, seeds of courage implanted within my heart. As an intern for Congresswoman Diana DeGette, I advocated for immigration reform within her office. I wrote bill recommendation memorandums that promoted gun control in the United States. I attended hearings that promoted criminal justice reform and spoke with staff who were personally affected by gun violence in America. As I wear the ring of my mother’s affliction, I am reminded of its igniting courage.

In a world where the struggles of military veterans and low-income citizens often go unnoticed, the issue of affording prosthetics emerges as a poignant reminder of the challenges they face. The journey of these individuals, grappling with the physical and emotional aftermath of their experiences, calls for a collective effort to extend a helping hand. Helping them afford prosthetics is not just a matter of providing medical aid; it is an act of compassion that mends not only limbs but also wounded spirits. Military veterans, having served their nation with valor, return home with scars that go beyond what meets the eye. For some, the loss of limbs becomes a visible manifestation of the sacrifices made in the line of duty. Similarly, low-income citizens facing physical disabilities find themselves navigating a landscape where financial constraints often dictate the scope of available medical assistance. In such circumstances, the affordability of prosthetics becomes a crucial factor in rebuilding lives. The emotional weight carried by those in need of prosthetics is immeasurable. It's a journey marked by resilience, determination, and an unyielding spirit to reclaim a sense of normalcy. Imagine the emotional toll of a veteran who, having faced the rigors of war, must now confront the challenges of adapting to a prosthetic limb. Picture the struggle of a low-income individual, already burdened by financial hardships, trying to piece together the funds necessary for a prosthetic that could significantly enhance their quality of life. In light of these struggles, initiatives aimed at making prosthetics accessible to military veterans and low-income citizens emerge as beacons of hope. The impact of such endeavors extends far beyond the physical rehabilitation; it touches the very core of human dignity. By providing affordable prosthetics, we offer these individuals a chance to reclaim their independence, pursue their dreams, and reintegrate into society with renewed confidence. The emotional resonance of supporting this cause lies in the stories of triumph that unfold when individuals receive the prosthetics they so desperately need. It's the veteran who, with a prosthetic limb, rediscovers the strength to face the world anew. It's the low-income citizen who, once burdened by the weight of limitations, now walks towards a future filled with possibilities. In conclusion, the journey of helping military veterans and low-income citizens afford prosthetics is a testament to the power of empathy and collective action. It is a narrative woven with threads of compassion, resilience, and the unwavering belief that everyone, regardless of their circumstances, deserves a chance at a full and fulfilling life. By extending our support to this cause, we contribute not only to the mending of limbs but also to the healing of souls.

As I near my five-year anniversary as a Correctional Officer, I often reflect on the dedication I have made to making a meaningful impact and serving my community. My commitment originates from a deeply personal mission; where I watched my mother overcome adversity and desired to break generational cycles for the betterment of my own family. Through this journey, I recognized a need for a transformation in the community at large. My first steps into public service began with the desire to emulate the success of my family members who had forged long, fulfilling careers in criminal justice. As I entered this world, I began to recognize that the justice system, specifically in corrections, desperately needed a new approach. Rather than merely punishing surface-level behaviors, it was clear to me that delving into the root causes that lead individuals down destructive paths was necessitated if the rehabilitation mission were to be successful. This realization began my journey into spirituality and psychology as possible interventions to recidivism and criminal behavior. I have seen firsthand, both in my own life and in the lives of the offenders in my charge, the profound impact of trauma on individuals in our community. Many incarcerated people share traumatic experiences in common: moments and milestones that shaped their mindsets and behaviors as adults and ultimately hinder their chances of success. Where the current penal system perpetuates a cycle of punishment that further encourages offenders to crime by limiting their opportunities for growth, I am dedicated to reshaping that cycle by addressing the underlying trauma. Unique insights can be gleaned from our own experiences with trauma, and I am no different. I understand the challenges individuals can face in overcoming these experiences; for myself I lived with a sense that I was not valuable unless I was achieving. I witnessed my mother, too, survive trauma, yet exhibit great resilience and determination in the face of this adversity. While she has been my inspiration, I sometimes feel a distinct sadness to see the way her pain is still her primary motivator. Both because of and in spite of this, I have resolved to remain empathetic, connecting with those within the correctional system not just as an enforcer of rules but as a catalyst for positive change. My career goals are centered around expanding my impact in the correctional setting beyond the confines of providing security and order. I aspire to transition into a role where I can implement trauma-informed mental health programming within the rehabilitation system, even if that means a hard-won battle to bring attention to a service that has not been fully accepted as being necessary. I will need to bridge the gap between my security and safety awareness with my knowledge and practice in the field of psychology. I envision a shift towards an approach to rehabilitation that empowers individuals to truly confront the past that is affecting their present, fostering change that resonates inside of institutions, as well as in the community at large.

I was in elementary school when I first became aware of environments of racism. It was something I read about in books, and it was something I witnessed firsthand while growing up in the Richard Allen projects. At the ages of 10 and 14, I saw people in my neighborhood murdered for resisting arrest. I remember thinking that I needed to step up and raise people’s levels of consciousness about these issues to stop these environments of racism. I began reading Malcolm X in elementary school and learned that he intervened in incidents of police brutality to help people. I discovered that some people hate each other because of their differences. I decided that instead, people should unite, love each other, and stand firm. My success meant nothing if I wasn’t using it to help someone else. I involved myself in social activism and started my social activist group with my Uncle Wayne in 2014. Our group, called the Unitarian Universalist Activism Social Lounge for a Wealthy Mind and Conscience (UUA), battles white supremacy and black supremacy through protesting, sign-holding, and good works. We meet every Thursday and encourage people to see that wealth comes from the heart and mind — not the pocket. Black or white, it’s not the dollar that validates your group; each individual’s intelligence and awareness of their own heart and consciousness. A lot of people are joining us and becoming social activists now. Still, others are hesitant to participate because they fear getting locked up for protesting. That’s a real possibility, but no one from my group has gotten locked up. Sometimes, the police will even honk their horn for support and justice when they drive by. This is astonishing; many police are changing their ways and protecting the community. I use my platform as a social activist to love my community. Outside of the work I do with my group, I often offer spare rooms in my apartment to house people in need. More people should do things like that. Black or white, it’s horrendous that people have to endure homelessness and poverty. Community members should step up and help people experiencing homelessness by being kindhearted (assisting people in getting programs) and having faith that we can help them get back on their feet. In addition to my social activism, I work as a private contractor and a library volunteer at Mcpherson Square Branch. At the library, I try to be an example to the kids. I want them to know that if they want to be a social activist, they can do it, too. Whatever they want to be, they should go for it and pursue their dreams. In Kensington, the need for social activism is enormous. Kensington is one of the most dangerous areas in Philadelphia right now, and two specific needs here are to stop violence and drug use. These problems make me upset. People on drugs still deserve to live a good life, but it feels like they are not listening to reasoning and logic and overlooking the benefits of stopping drug use. However, I believe there must be a break to this vicious cycle one day. Preventing drug use could raise their consciousness and allow them to make better decisions about life. It’s only a matter of time. The goal is to both motivate to inspire my community. Motivation is only temporary while inspiration can stay with someone forever and enable them to change within themselves.

A victim of the school-to-prison pipeline. A teenager beaten by prison guards. A man with post-traumatic stress disorder due to solitary confinement. As I listened to the heartwrenching words of exoneree Andre Jacob’s testimony, I felt the depth of every syllable he uttered. Seeing a man who resembled my father, I couldn’t grasp the reality in which he unfolded. The tears welling up in my eyes watered the sprouting passion for criminal justice within me as his story took hold of my heart. However, the passion growing its roots in my heart had remained hidden and obscure in the parched soil. Growing up as a first-generation American of Ethiopian descent, I struggled to feel a sense of belonging in a predominantly white neighborhood. I felt the pressures of estrangement stimulate solitude. My appearance separated me from my peers; my language barrier caused me to remain mute. My Ethiopian accent induced me to pronounce English words incorrectly, and my peers ensured I was aware of my insufficiencies. As these feelings fostered within my heart, I desired to manipulate solitariness into acceptance. By becoming the Co-President of the IB Minority Club, I strived to diminish the feelings I once carried through an embracing club centered around service and unity. Under my leadership, the club grew from five members to forty-seven as others enjoyed inclusion. The seeds of advocacy for the suppressed in society had developed within me. Suddenly, at the end of a hectic junior year, the death of George Floyd rewatered the withered soil within me. As I saw my brother, my father, and my peers in his dying eyes, my soul burst with compassion; the roots of criminal justice activism dispersed within me. Emboldened by my passion, I joined the Chief’s Youth Advisory Team, where I communicated with Chief Wilson and her team. I gained their perspective on police brutality and the efforts they take to decrease its presence. In an interview with the city of Aurora, I voiced my credence, reaching 6,000 people nationwide. I met with Mayor Coffman and stood up for my beliefs by advocating for an increase in police training. By joining the Justice Education Project, I taught youth the flaws in the criminal justice system. I educated 15,000 people about the criminal justice system through educational TikToks. I became the Co-Marketing Leader, spoke at webinars that provided systemic racism solutions, and helped publish our book, "First Steps Into Criminal Justice Activism: For Youth." Slowly, the seeds of advocacy transformed into a stem of leadership as I longed to become a lawyer. Furthermore, I connected with Chief Deputy District Attorney Victoria Klingensmith, who illustrated the inner workings of the criminal justice system to me. She allowed me to watch a homicide trial in a courtroom; I discussed with different attorneys the subunits within the justice system. Exoneree Andre Jacobs once said, “your success and everything you accomplish in your life...will start in your own heart.” The seeds of advocacy have woven their way through my life; I dream to become a lawyer, defender, and judge. As a student at Cornell University, I’ve found that its community-oriented programs will enlighten my pathway to law school. I joined the Prison Reform and Education Project, which enables me to educate my peers through public speaking events and articles, promoting essential skills to become a lawyer. Furthermore, as a Teaching Assistant in the Cornell Prison Education Program, I will equip inmates with the skills needed to reenter the workforce through rehabilitation. I will take steps to alleviate the horrors exoneree Jacob once experienced and steadfastly advocate for reform and rehabilitation.

My ideal career has always been in the medical field, but my ultimate life goal is to serve as a compassionate and informed bridge between physicians and policymakers. This objective did not evolve overnight but rather grew along with my experiences in my family, community, and in local politics. During a high school internship with a local congressional campaign where I canvassed prospective voters on the issues that mattered to them, I found that access to affordable healthcare was a common topic of concern among voters of all backgrounds. Growing up in a family that suffered from back-to-back chronic health issues, I shared those same concerns. As a child, I saw firsthand how difficult navigating the healthcare system was for my grandparents as immigrants who struggled with the language. In high school, I noted how multiple specialists repeatedly ignored my mother’s health concerns until a routine check revealed a heart valve defect. I could not help but wonder if the care that my family received might have been different if their doctors were trained to look at diverse patients differently and recognize diverse needs. It was in these early days that I realized I wanted to be more than a good doctor. I want to advocate for stricter health equity measures that hold physicians and the healthcare system accountable to the patients who rely on them. Although so many of my goals in medicine lie ahead of me, I have been anxious to find ways to make a difference as a concerned undergraduate. At the beginning of 2022, I interned with the Texas nonprofit CHILDREN AT RISK where I specialized in policy research on child and family health. Working through immense amounts of data on healthcare outcomes in my native Houston, I quickly learned that the maternal mortality rate for Black and Brown women was several times higher than that of women of any other race. Beyond the facts and figures, I knew that there was an underlying problem that the data could not quite explain. It was the same phenomenon, I suspected, that kept my mother from getting the care she needed for so many months. As a research assistant in the University of Virginia Social Cognition and Behavior Lab, I have been given an opportunity to address health inequity, specifically in women's health. I am currently the principal investigator on a study that seeks to understand how and why pain experienced by pregnant women of color is perceived differently by the general public. The implication of this study is to hopefully understand how culturally ingrained bias seeps into medical care, even for physicians who are highly caring and self-aware. With this knowledge, I believe that there are public policy steps that can be taken to improve medical training and alter healthcare policies such as high costs that make marginalized communities weary of the doctor's office. As a future physician and current policy wonk, I am passionate about turning research and words into action. To this end, I plan to intern with a member of Congress this coming summer to further study health policy and share the concerns I have heard from my community. I sincerely hope that the work that I have started today will raise a broader conversation about healthcare equity as it affects all of us.