The United States prison system is a product of centuries of racialized control: from the exploitation of the Thirteenth Amendment to Black Codes and Jim Crow laws, the system has targeted Black communities. These patterns continue today, as prisons worsen outcomes and fail to address root causes of crime. Private profit and political incentives further distort the system, creating a prison industrial complex that relies on high incarceration rates. To repair the harm done to Black communities, the prison system must be transformed to focus on rehabilitation and improving social conditions. By reducing harmful interactions, over-policing, and cycles of incarceration, these reforms would directly improve trust between law enforcement and Black communities. In Are Prisons Obsolete?, Angela Davis states that the prison system benefits economic and political structures rather than reducing crime. The Thirteenth Amendment ended slavery except for forced labor “as punishment for crime,” allowing Black Codes to criminalize minor behaviors and control Black men through convict leasing. As Michelle Alexander explains in The New Jim Crow, the system functions as a racial hierarchy targeting Black Americans. The War on Drugs further intensified these disparities: despite similar drug use rates, Black Americans are arrested and incarcerated at higher rates. As demonstrated by the Sentencing Project, crack cocaine—which is more prevalent in Black communities—carries far harsher penalties than powder cocaine, with disparities up to 100:1. Prisons fail to rehabilitate and worsen outcomes: data from the Prison Policy Initiative shows incarceration increases recidivism by reinforcing criminal identity and limiting future access to necessities. Formerly incarcerated individuals face barriers to employment, housing, and healthcare, creating a permanent underclass. As the Vera Institute of Justice states, society relies heavily on prisons as the default response to problems better addressed through social services. Prisoners are often paid cents per hour for labor, enabled by the Thirteenth Amendment. The bail system entrenches inequality: wealthy defendants go free while poorer defendants, disproportionately Black, remain incarcerated. According to The Sentencing Project, approximately two million people are incarcerated in the U.S., the highest rate in the world, and Black Americans are imprisoned at five times the rate of White Americans. Prisons are therefore tied to systemic racism and economic incentives, benefiting governments and corporations rather than public safety. Transforming prisons into rehabilitation centers focused on education, healthcare, and access would address the current system’s failures. Pretrial programs achieve over 90% compliance and education reduces recidivism by approximately 40%, according to the National Institute of Justice. Privatized prisons, which profit per inmate per day, cut staffing and rehabilitation programs to maximize profits, leading to higher rates of violence and worse outcomes for prisoners, a concern raised by the ACLU. Prisons should therefore be public institutions, not private and profit-driven. As argued by the NAACP, reducing reliance on incarceration would decrease racial disparities in policing and sentencing. Rehabilitation programs that provide social support increase employment and reduce repeat offenses. Additionally, fewer arrests for minor offenses would reduce the systemic racism experienced by Black communities. From its origins in the Thirteenth Amendment to its modern expansion, the U.S. prison system consistently harms Black communities and fails to reduce crime. As Angela Davis and Michelle Alexander prove, mass incarceration functions not as a tool of justice but as a mechanism of social control. Because of this, incremental reform is insufficient; a system built on punishment, profit, and exclusion cannot be fixed without fundamentally changing its purpose. Shifting toward rehabilitation and addressing the social conditions that lead to crime would reduce recidivism and begin to dismantle the cycles of racial inequality that the current system sustains.

My understanding of the world comes from lived experiences with systems that failed to protect me. I learned early that history, politics, and culture are not abstract topics discussed in textbooks; they actively determine who is respected, whose voices are heard, and who is allowed to participate freely in society. These observations sparked my fascination with how societies function and, more importantly, how they can be changed. My interest in history comes from recognizing patterns between the past and the present. When I study history, I see how marginalized groups have been consistently excluded, controlled, and erased, and I see how progress has only occurred through sustained resistance and reform. These patterns showed me that injustice is constructed, not accidental, and equips me to challenge narratives that frame inequality as inevitable. Cultural anthropology resonates with me because it dismantles the idea that social norms are fixed and universal. Learning how concepts like gender, family, and authority vary across cultures helped me understand that many of the rules enforced in my own life are not natural truths, but social choices. This perspective is essential for creating compassionate and effective solutions, especially in diverse communities, because it emphasizes listening and understanding over imposing assumptions. Political science gives me the tools to turn awareness into action. Through it, I can study how institutions distribute power, how laws are shaped, and why certain populations are consistently excluded from decision-making. For someone who hopes to enter public service, this discipline is crucial. It allows me to approach governance with both ethical clarity and structural understanding, rather than relying on intention alone. I’ve begun applying these lessons by phone banking for local campaigns and tutoring underprivileged students, gaining firsthand insight into how policy, information, and support empower communities—and how small actions drive larger social change. Studying these disciplines together will allow me to reach my academic and professional goals. I plan to pursue a PhD in order to develop a deep, research-based understanding of social systems and public policy, grounding my future work in evidence rather than ideology. This academic foundation will inform my goal of becoming an elected official, allowing me to craft policy that is historically informed, culturally aware, and morally and structurally sound. I want to enter public life not only with passion, but with the analytical tools necessary to design lasting, equitable solutions. By integrating lessons from history, cultural anthropology, and political science, I aim to contribute to a world where policy is informed by lived experience and understanding. My goal is to become a public servant and humanitarian who works to create systems that recognize human complexity instead of suppressing it. I believe meaningful change begins when those shaping policy understand not just how institutions operate, but how they affect real people—especially those most often overlooked.

Accessing education as a transgender student has been one of the most difficult and formative struggles of my life. In my freshman year of high school, I attended a Catholic school where my gender identity was not recognized or respected. I was not allowed to use my correct name or pronouns and was forced into gendered spaces that discarded my identity, most notably gym, where girls and boys were separated and assigned different units. This environment created constant distress and made school feel unsafe, isolating, and dehumanizing. Despite this, I maintained nearly perfect grades and remained at the top of my class, yet I was still penalized for skipping gym due to the harm it caused me. At one point, after expressing suicidal thoughts to the dean, I was required to stay home rather than being offered meaningful support or accommodations. My therapist at the time wrote me a letter stating I was not a danger to myself unless placed in spaces that triggered my dysphoria; this was not acknowledged. I was not permitted to return to school until undergoing an additional evaluation. This caused me to miss about three weeks of school and eventually led to my transferring. In a new, supportive environment, I thrived. I formed meaningful friendships, began engaging with my teachers and peers, and I was treated with basic dignity—something I was not getting at my previous school or at home. This contrast proved to me how profoundly institutional policies and attitudes affect transgender students’ access to education. These experiences are the foundation of my commitment to advocacy and public service. I plan to use my education to become an elected official and humanitarian focused on expanding legal and medical protections for transgender and non-binary people. My goals include ensuring that gender-affirming medical care is treated with the same legitimacy and accessibility as other healthcare, simplifying the legal name and gender marker change processes, enforcing stronger consequences for hate crimes, and requiring insurance coverage of gender-affirming care. I also believe that adolescents should have meaningful autonomy over their healthcare decisions, including access to gender-affirming treatment, without unnecessary political and legal barriers. My goal as an elected official is not only to advocate, but to create durable policy frameworks that prevent institutions from repeating the harm I experienced. I do not view education simply as personal advancement, but as a tool for systemic change. I survived an educational system that tried to erase me, and I intend to help build one that protects, affirms, and empowers future transgender students. My goal is to ensure that no one has to choose between their education and their identity in order to succeed.

One of the most meaningful ways I have contributed to my community has been through a combination of tutoring, political phone banking, and participation in LGBTQ+ youth support spaces. While these experiences took different forms, they were all motivated by the same belief: access, representation, and support should not be privileges reserved for a few. I began tutoring younger students after seeing how uneven access to academic support could shape outcomes. Many of the students I worked with were capable but lacked guidance, time, or resources outside of school. By providing individualized help, I saw how academic confidence could change when someone felt supported rather than judged. The challenge was learning how to meet people where they were, adjusting my approach to different learning styles, and being patient when progress was slow. From this, I learned that community impact often happens quietly and incrementally, and that consistency matters as much as skill. My involvement in phone banking grew out of a desire to engage more directly with civic participation. Through grassroots political outreach, I spoke with people from underrepresented communities, listening to their concerns and helping them navigate the political process. Many conversations were difficult; people were often frustrated, skeptical, or disengaged after feeling ignored by institutions for years. These challenges taught me how to communicate respectfully across differences and reinforced the importance of political engagement that prioritizes active listening rather than empty promises. It solidified my understanding that democracy only functions when people believe their voices matter. I have also participated in groups at an LGBTQ+ youth center, where I found and contributed to a space built on mutual support. Engaging with others navigating identity, mental health, and marginalization deepened my empathy and awareness of how systemic inequities affect everyday life. Being part of this community taught me the value of safe spaces and collective resilience, and it strengthened my commitment to advocacy rooted in lived experience. Together, these experiences shaped my long-term goals. I plan to continue contributing to my community by pursuing a career as an elected official and humanitarian, where I can work to address inequities at a systemic level. I intend to remain engaged in grassroots advocacy, mentorship, and educational support while advancing my education, with the ultimate goal of earning a PhD. What I have learned is that meaningful change requires both direct involvement and structural reform. My commitment to community impact is not temporary; it is the foundation of the work I intend to do for the rest of my life.