Law has always been a service before it was a profession. As a Palestinian-American, my earliest exposure to the law came not from doctrine, but from lived experience, often at moments when legal protections were absent, uncertain, or selectively applied. These experiences shaped my intellectual curiosity and my commitment to becoming an attorney guided by responsibility, perseverance, and compassion. Before my own experiences, my perspective was shaped by my father, whose family fled Kuwait during the Iraqi invasion after already being Palestinian refugees. While later offered a scholarship in Iraq conditional on him joining Saddam Hussein’s party, my father’s ethics came before money, leading him to pursue education in the United States. Growing up, I myself witnessed how law and policy, or rather a lack thereof, quietly govern daily life. In Palestine, this meant navigating checkpoints, restricted roads, and the interrogation of family members before prayer. Furthermore, my family’s move to the United Arab Emirates exposed me to the Kafala system, where a worker’s ability to remain in the country depended entirely on a private sponsor’s discretion. Life under the constant threat of termination and deportation taught me how profoundly law can shape stability, and how damaging it is when protections exist only in theory. These experiences instilled in me a respect for the rule of law and an understanding of its ethical demands. Their salience has given me an ability to challenge assumptions and logical gaps that often get overlooked. They taught me that legal authority carries a responsibility to be exercised carefully and consistently. Thus, integrity and uncompromising ethics are not abstract ideals to me, they are necessary conditions for legitimacy and justice. Consequently, I approach my legal education with seriousness and perseverance in order to achieve this goals. I value intellectual rigor because effective advocacy requires precision and accountability. I engage thoughtfully with my peers, especially in disagreement, because civility and respect are essential to leadership within the legal profession. My academic efforts reflect my curiosity and discipline, driven by the knowledge that those I hope to represent will depend on my competence and judgment. Lastly, my commitment to underserved populations is personal and enduring. Having grown up navigating systems that were not designed to protect people like me, I am especially drawn to public interest and international legal work aimed at expanding access and enforcing meaningful protections. I aspire to advocate for consistency in the application of law so that rights are not dependent on discretion, status, or geography. After all, if my one semester of civil procedure has taught me one thing, it’s that “an uncertain privilege, or one which purports to be certain but results in widely varying applications . . . is little better than no privilege at all.” Upjohn Co. v. United States, 449 U.S. 383 (1981). Many moments of my life and the life of those before me now serve as a constant reminder to retain my ethics while pursuing law, a service profession that is often outshined by its prestige. Thus, I envision positively impacting the legal world as an attorney that is truly committed to advocacy, and as someone who desires an equitable world over one that is merely comfortable for herself.

My first language is Arabic, and growing up bilingual has always allowed me to see life through a unique lens. While it has its own challenges, I wouldn't trade it for the world. My name is Aya Abuhijleh, I am 19 in my 1L year at the University of Houston Law Center, and I hope to be able to use my linguistic skills to enforce justice across borders after graduation. Although I still remember my first few ESL classes from when I moved back to the United States at 7, my English has come a long way since then. I even remember the difficulties of understanding things that I find so simple now, such as the difference between a sink and a faucet. As proof of my progress, I can say that I've been keeping up in law school, despite the words I'm now expected to understand looking much more complex. Regardless of the initial difficulties, being forced to understand two different languages with such varying structures definitely benefitted me as I got older. When I started middle school, I began taking Spanish classes offered by my school. I quickly noticed that I was able to grasp the grammar and conjugations with ease after being forced to pay attention to their English counterparts at such a young age. In high school, I was able to advance through more advanced levels of Spanish and test out of it for university credit, which was part of the reason I was able to graduate with my B.A. so early. In the meantime, I was working at a restaurant and often used Spanish with my coworkers. Seeing the way people open up to you and feel more free to express themselves when spoken to in their native language allowed me to appreciate the real beauty of language, which is its role as a sign of respect, cultural appreciation, and a commitment to bridging divides. It is one thing to state your appreciation for a culture, but to show it through fluency that takes years of commitment and consistent practice will always be more impactful. This theory of language as a tool for community building proved itself to be true when I interned on the Hill. The Congresswoman I worked for had many Arab American constituents, and being able to conduct constituent services to that community in Arabic often reinforced my positive perception of the utility and beauty of language. I noticed so many constituents felt much more at ease expressing their concerns, and much less intimidated by the informational asymmetries surrounding governmental processes, something that often exists in migrant communities and prevents them from voicing their concerns to their representatives. Currently, I am trying to learn Swahili as well, as it is a language often spoken by my best friend's family. I hope to be able to continue to use languages to help those around me feel more understood and appreciated in a variety of environments and settings. After all of these experiences with languages, I wish I could go back and tell my 7 year old self that her struggles will one day turn into her strength. Being multilingual is now my biggest pride and joy, and it is truly something I will never take for granted.

While there have been many times in my life in which the prioritization of my health has wavered, my senior year of high school was definitely the one I remember most. I know it is likely a highly shared experience, but my senior year of high school was one of the toughest times for me mentally. This past year, my father has lost his job and been hospitalized twice, my sister has moved out and I haven’t spoken to her in weeks, and I have a law school semester coming up with not nearly enough finances to cover it. However, despite these examples of adversity and many more, they still don’t compare to how I was mentally my senior year of high school, and ironically enough I have senior year to thank for that. The beginning of that year was pretty normal, I was a kid spending hours in marching band practice with a big friend group and average grades. However, as happens in high school, it didn’t take long after the school year started for rumors and gossip to eat away at those assets like a parasite. Soon enough, I noticed that my friends were becoming in-genuine, whether they were making comments about me behind my back, or to my face taking jabs at my mannerisms, looks, or other surface level traits. To add on to this, college applications were coming up. My parents were both born and raised in the Middle East, and I had no one to guide me through the process. Additionally, my father was protesting the idea of me going to college in the United States, and as a result the burden of application fees and tuition expenses fell on my 17 year old shoulders. The beginning of that year was tough. I picked up a second job to be able to begin affording applications and to raise money for tuition, but I was behind because I simply didn’t know how the timeline for applications was structured. I soon began to notice that all my priorities had eaten away at my leisure time, which I also had a hard time enjoying as I would spend it stressing. My life both internally and externally felt like a never ending battle. That was when I began going to the gym consistently. I always understood the importance of physical well being, but I never understood just how well it could aid its mental counterpart until I picked up lifting at the beginning of that dreaded year. The gym was one of the few activities I could squeeze into my spare time that gave me a feeling of escapism without negative consequences. Now, almost three years since the start of that habit, I have the gym to thank for the life I was able to build. Not only did it get me out of a dark space mentally by forcing my mind to clear thoughts that didn’t serve me, but the gym taught me the discipline I needed to continue to work through undergrad, and I now have my Bachelor’s at just 19. Additionally, it taught me a mature mentality by showing me that I should always prioritize real progress over perception. In simpler terms, it gave me the me vs. me (cliche, I know) mentality that I carry with me in my career, academics, and social life that prevents me from prioritizing validation. Because of the habits I started senior year, I have been able to prioritize all forms of well-being in more recent times of adversity, and have become passionate about helping others do the same.

My role in inclusion and community building has definitely taken a unique form as a student. I understand that at first glance, I may not seem like the most committed candidate to such a cause, especially with most of my work experience being fast food and restaurants. However, I would like to argue that food service has given me valuable insight into what inclusion will mean in the world of policy I aspire to enter. My first fast food job was when I was 15 at Taco Bell. Although I wasn’t supposed to be hired because of my age, my manager was the type of man who was a little too excited to have a young girl on the team. As you can imagine, that job taught me to stand up for myself, and showed me the realities of instances where power dynamics are uneven and cases are difficult to prove. While that manager was later fired, I will never forget the new perspective all my other coworkers gave me as well. Working with former gang members on probation, single parents who had a 9-5, former nurses and athletes, and many people from all other walks of life, I learned about so many different viewpoints at such a young age, something that higher education cannot always provide on its own. Being able to form opinions outside the theoretical, isolated world of academia is one of the main reasons I can now consider myself to be open minded and understanding, which is essential to community building. With the urgent demands of tuition, I continued to work in the food service industry throughout high school and undergrad. From Taco Bell, to Braum’s, to Burger King, to Dunkin Donuts, to Starbucks and even to Olive Garden up until January, I have had many experiences that disintegrated my implicit biases. Who could imagine when I dipped my hand in a fryer, a convicted felon would be the man who would rush to Walmart instead of going home to get me burn cream, and sit with me for over an hour off the clock to make sure I was alright. Food service is also a setting where political conversation isn’t restricted, and you hear people’s opinions raw and as they are. I believe those experiences have and will continue to shape my approaches regarding advocacy and other aspects of policy. Regardless of my academic and occupational workloads, I attempted to prioritize volunteer work and other forms of community involvement. When I could, I joined clubs at school that cleaned up roads on the weekends or packed meals during the holidays. However, my realest form of community involvement came when I began working on the Hill. Being in a congressional office showed me the realities of legislative processes, and most importantly it shined light on the fact that organized, well funded groups with financial leverage are taken with much more weight than large amounts of constituents regarding their legislative priorities and asks. This new perspective has now made me eager to help minority communities such as mine. Informational asymmetries, especially those surrounding government processes, will forever serve as one of the biggest barriers to inclusion in the long run. I am moving to Houston for law school in the fall, and have already begun connecting with lawyers and politicians who share this same interest of community engagement and inclusion in policy. I hope to be able to enter the organizing space and encourage others to dissolve these barriers in order to achieve true representation and foster inclusion where it matters most, in laws and policy.

I truly believe I am worth the dream I aspire to achieve, which is serving justice on a broad scale. As basic as it sounds, it is truly my biggest motivation for entering the legal field, and I cannot think of anything else that would push me to pursue international law. Being the first in my family to attend law school in the United States, and coming from a country where I am treated as a second class citizen, I am passionate about an equal application of justice across borders. I believe I am "worth" this dream because of my ability to persevere. Once again, basic, but allow me to explain. To begin with, I come from a place where my family has never been recognized as full citizens, despite them being native to the land. Even having a U.S. citizenship, I am unable to fly into my country directly and must instead go through checkpoints and longer roads specific to my ethnicity. Seeing this in the summers since childhood has served as a continuous reminder of the privileges many allow to go unrecognized. In other words, my background has undoubtedly made me hyper aware of the prevalence of injustice around the world, and as a result gave me an increased sense of urgency to act upon when choosing my career. Being a woman in a Middle Eastern family has also unfortunately positively influenced me. As paradoxical as it sounds, I say this for several reasons. First, I witnessed female family friends who turned down full rides for no reason other than the shame of moving out single. Then, I was working two jobs in high school because my father was not willing to pay my application fees. Finally, I attended community college for his same attitude regarding my tuition. I began to understand the importance of the independence that my mother told me she wished for. I became passionate about self sustainability after seeing a dependent situation trap so many women I love. While that aspect of my identity now drives me to do more, that was not always the case. I once allowed this to dampen my spark when it came to academics and my general aspirations. After looking at my transcript for just a few minutes, one can see significant progress from my transfer credits when I first began college, and my last few semesters. With that evidence, I am finally able to explain my paradox, and also answer the question at hand. My ability to witness wrongdoings and injustice, and use them as motivation rather than as long-term setbacks, is the strength I need and now know I possess to allow me to serve justice on a broad scale. I now have obtained my B.A. at just 19 with nothing less than a 4.0 since I transferred from community college. I have made the President’s list every semester, and managed to get an internship in the House of Representatives this past spring, despite being told that my career should always come second and being asked about marriage more frequently than my tangible accomplishments. I continue to be passionate about justice for all and aspire to be someone who can help the world work towards that. In short, I am worth my dreams because I have taken my personal experiences with injustice and used them to understand the importance of fighting the standards, applications, and principles behind the law that lead to it. I persevered and allowed wrongdoing to push me closer towards my dreams, rather than away from them.

Throughout my legal career, I hope to be able to serve justice on a broad scale. As basic as it sounds, it is truly my biggest motivation for entering the field, and I cannot think of anything else that would push me to pursue international law. Being the first in my family to attend law school in the United States, and coming from a country where I am treated as a second class citizen, I am passionate about an equal application of justice across borders. To begin with, I come from a place where my family has never been recognized as full citizens, despite them being native to the land. Even having a U.S. citizenship, I am unable to fly into my country directly and must instead go through checkpoints and longer roads specific to my ethnicity. Seeing this in the summers since childhood has served as a continuous reminder of the privileges many allow to go unrecognized. In other words, this has undoubtedly made me hyper aware of the prevalence of injustice around the world, and as a result gave me an increased sense of urgency to act upon when choosing my career. Being a woman in a Middle Eastern family has also unfortunately influenced me. First, it was witnessing female family friends who turned down full rides for no reason other than the shame of moving out single. Then, it was working two jobs in high school because my father was not willing to pay my application fees. Finally, it was attending community college for that same reason. I began to understand the importance of the independence that my mother told me she wished for. I became passionate about self sustainability after seeing a dependent situation trap so many women I love. While that aspect of my identity now drives me to do more, that was not always the case. I once allowed this to dampen my spark when it came to academics and my general aspirations. After looking at my transcript for just a few minutes, one can see significant progress from my transfer credits when I first began college, and my last few semesters. With that evidence, I can safely say that my ability to witness wrongdoings and injustice, and use them as motivation rather than as long-term setbacks, is the strength I need and now know I possess to allow me to serve justice on a broad scale. I now have obtained my B.A. at just 19 with nothing less than a 4.0 since I transferred from community college. I have made the President’s list every semester, and managed to get an internship in the House of Representatives this past spring, despite being told that my career should always come second, and being asked about marriage more frequently than my tangible accomplishments. I continue to be passionate about justice for all and aspire to be someone who can help the world work towards that.

Over the past few semesters, I have been able to make extreme academic progress. From starting my undergraduate journey as a mediocre student at community college, to now finishing my last semester on Capitol Hill, I can safely say that my approach to my education has changed for the better. Next semester, I will become the first in my family to attend law school in the United States. Coming from a country where I am treated as a second class citizen, I am excited to be able to get closer to pursuing what I am most passionate about: an equal application of justice across borders. First I should start with what's most important. I am Palestinian, meaning I am from a place where my family has never been recognized as full citizens, despite being native to the land. Even having a U.S. citizenship, I am unable to fly into my country directly and must instead go through checkpoints and longer roads specific to my ethnicity. Seeing this in the summers since childhood has served as a continuous reminder of the privileges many in the states may allow to go unrecognized. In other words, my experiences back home have undoubtedly made me hyper aware of the prevalence of injustice around the world, and as a result gave me an increased sense of urgency to act upon when choosing my career. Being a woman in a Middle Eastern family has also unfortunately positively influenced me, as paradoxical as it sounds. First, I witnessed female family friends turning down full rides for no reason other than the shame of moving out single. Then, I worked two jobs in high school and attended community college because my father was not willing to pay my application fees. As unpleasant as these moments in my life may have been, they allowed me to understand the importance of the independence that my mother told me she wished for. I became passionate about self sustainability after seeing a dependent situation trap so many women I love. While that aspect of my identity now drives me to do more, that was not always the case. I once allowed this to dampen my spark when it came to academics and my general aspirations. After looking at my transcript for just a few minutes, one can see significant progress between my transfer credits when I first began college, and my last few semesters. With that evidence, I am finally able to explain how this has positively impacted me. My ability to witness wrongdoings and injustice, and use them as motivation rather than as long-term setbacks, is the strength I need and now know I possess to allow me to serve justice on a broad scale. I now have obtained my B.A. at just 19 with nothing less than a 4.0 since I transferred from community college. I have made the President’s list every semester, and managed to get an internship in the House of Representatives this past spring, despite being told that my career should always come second, and being asked about marriage more frequently than my tangible accomplishments. I continue to be passionate about justice for all and aspire to be someone who can help the world work towards that. I hope you can consider me a good candidate for this scholarship, as it would truly help guarantee that I would have the resources necessary to follow through with my passions, and that I would be able to help others like me as a result. Thank you for your time and consideration.

My choice to go into public policy is a unique outcome of my background. Growing up in Texas as a Palestinian American woman, I feel comfortable saying I have witnessed injustice in this field in many forms. However, my understanding of said injustice has deepened further throughout my years of undergraduate studies. Learning about power dynamics and biases in court and law in general has made me more confident in my ability to work around them. Being a woman in a Middle Eastern family has undoubtedly influenced me. First, it was witnessing female family friends who turned down full rides for no reason other than the shame of moving out single. Then, it was working two jobs in high school because my father was not willing to pay my application fees. I began to understand the importance of the independence that my mother told me she wished for. I became passionate about self-sustainability after seeing a dependent situation trap so many I love. Public policy has failed me quite a few times. In Texas, that failure takes the form of decisions regarding welfare and bodily autonomy. In Palestine, it’s something I have to experience every time I drive up to the border and go through checkpoints, or have a 1 hour drive turned 3 because certain ethnicities are banned from certain roads, or when I watch all the men in my family get interrogated before prayer, or finally when I hear and see combat boots in my place of worship on what I thought was a regular day. It is for these countless witnesses and experiences growing up that I feel very passionate about public policy and the protections it’s meant to ensure, especially at the international level. Going into undergrad for international studies, I noticed a recurring theme. Despite the countless conferences, conventions, discussions, declarations, policies, or protocols, it almost seems as though policies exist in an educated, yet isolated world that assumes a declaration of what should be done will change what occurs on a daily basis. Unfortunately, the most thought-provoking question that could be asked in most of my classes was: what measures have been taken to ensure this will be implemented? For that reason, I hope to be able to enter international law and be able to keep in mind the application of theories and laws when analyzing or criticizing them. Finally, minoring in economics was something I was hesitant to do, but it has brought to my attention more aspects of public policy that are crucial to consider. For instance, behavioral economics taught me about how the biases of individuals can cascade down to the government, giving me a better understanding of how that might lead to injustice. This broader understanding of biases combined with my background of witnessing injustice has made me very passionate about public policy and its potential to improve. From here, I only hope that I can put my foot in the world of public policy for the better.

My name is Aya Abuhijleh, and I am a senior at the University of North Texas. I am currently applying to law school and just got accepted into American University's Washington College of Law. There are many ways in which my identity as a Palestinian has affected my educational and career goals, so I will start from the beginning. Growing up, my family moved around a lot. I was born in the United States to a Nabulsi father and Khalili mother. Shortly after I was born, we moved to Kuwait and then the UAE because my father feared the loss of my sister and I's Arab identity. However, after 5 years in the UAE, we had to come back to the US because of difficulties finding a job for my father, who was not an Emirati National. After moving back to the US at the age of 7, I continued my education while my father sought out jobs in the Arab world. As you can guess by my university name, things didn't go as planned, and we are still here. Growing up in Texas, I quickly found out that many of my peers and teachers did not support liberation as my friends did overseas. The isolation, arguments, and frustration that grew from my identity as a Palestinian in a conservative state fueled my desire to advocate for justice. This desire was especially amplified by my father, who's family fell victim to the Nakba, and who always stressed the importance of education for Palestinians. He always made sure we visited the West Bank when we could, and my mother made sure I maintained my Palestinian ID and paperwork, regardless of the checkpoints or inconveniences it caused me to endure. My visits always kept my identity as a strong reminder of my purpose. Even as things have escalated recently, many of my relatives refuse to leave Palestine, feeling strongly about their connection to the land. It is for that reason that I feel I must act with Palestine in mind to justify and account for mine and my parents' displacement. Going into college, I decided to major in international studies. Throughout my years of undergrad, I noticed a recurring theme. Despite the countless conferences, conventions, declarations, policies, or protocols discussed in my international relations classes, it almost felt as though those policies existed in the isolated world of education, rather than one where their implications could be seen and experienced by those they were meant to aid. At the end of my undergraduate years, I got an internship, which I am currently almost done with. I am working in the US House of Representatives, and it has been an interesting journey considering my heritage. It is such an odd feeling to witness the creation of Zionist policies, and then go back home and see their implementation, all while hearing about the American values of freedom, liberty, and justice. I am also in the process of applying to law schools for international law. I feel very passionately about ending the contradiction that exists between policy and reality around the world. Although it may have never been part of the plan for me to stay in the US, I believe it is one of the few places where I have the power to make change and take larger strides towards liberation. Every day, just by interacting with people who may have never heard a Palestinian voice, I gain more support for real justice. In general, I hope to be able to enter either foreign diplomacy or international law after law school. My identity as a Palestinian has not only impacted my journey, but it has been the reason I am still pursuing it. The existence of my heritage serves as a daily reminder of the privilege I have to be able to attend school, pursue my career, or even just live. I hope to be able to use that privilege for a greater cause for the rest of my life.