From an early age, I’ve been intrigued by power’s role in our political system, how policies shape lives, the strategies behind elections, and the people driving change. My Law & Social Justice class at Berkeley High deepened this interest by revealing the human side of politics. The course challenged my assumptions about the criminal justice system, moving beyond the media’s simplistic narratives. A visit to San Quentin Prison was a turning point. Expecting a grim experience, I instead met individuals who defied stereotypes with hope, compassion, and remorse, qualities I hadn’t associated with prison. That day, I realized how societal narratives can strip people of their humanity. San Quentin taught me that political science isn’t just about strategies; it’s about understanding the human experiences behind policies and biases. This focus on people connects to my experiences on the tennis courts of West Oakland. Growing up in the Youth Tennis Advantage (YTA) program, I saw the value of youth athletics, even on cracked courts. Since 10th grade, I’ve volunteered as an instructor, sharing my love for tennis with kids on those same courts. Teaching is more than coaching forehands; it’s about showing kids that progress takes time and dedication. I relate to their self-criticism in tennis and encourage them to see it as a journey. On rainy days, when most kids stay home, I’m there, helping with homework and reinforcing work ethic. Watching them grow—on and off the court—is the most rewarding part. I’ve learned leadership requires patience and consistency, and I’m proud to create opportunities for these kids, just as YTA did for me. My commitment stems from understanding their challenges. Tennis lessons are costly, often inaccessible for West Oakland families. Having practiced alone on under-funded courts, I know these barriers. This fuels my passion for political science. We must prioritize supporting underrepresented youth, as investing in them builds a brighter future. My experiences show that systemic change starts with empowering individuals through education and opportunity. This belief shapes my view of politics as community and connection. I’ve studied what wins elections, how campaigns attract or repel supporters, and how policies unify or divide. Yet my time at San Quentin and on the tennis courts taught me that politics is about people. The curiosity that led me to question the electoral college in eighth grade now drives me to engage with diverse perspectives. I’m eager to study political science to understand power systems and find ways to unite people. My ability to approach complexities with empathy will enrich a diverse college community. At its core, politics is about building bridges, and I’m committed to using my voice and education to foster connection, not division.

From an early age, I’ve been intrigued by power’s role in our political system—how policies shape lives, the strategies behind elections, and the people driving change. My Law & Social Justice class at Berkeley High deepened this interest by revealing the human side of politics. The course challenged my assumptions about the criminal justice system, moving beyond the media’s simplistic narratives. A visit to San Quentin Prison was a turning point. Expecting a grim experience, I instead met individuals who defied stereotypes with hope, compassion, and remorse—qualities I hadn’t associated with prison. That day, I realized how societal narratives can strip people of their humanity. San Quentin taught me that political science isn’t just about strategies; it’s about understanding the human experiences behind policies and biases. This focus on people connects to my experiences on the tennis courts of West Oakland. Growing up in the Youth Tennis Advantage (YTA) program, I saw the value of youth athletics, even on cracked courts. Since 10th grade, I’ve volunteered as an instructor, sharing my love for tennis with kids on those same courts. Teaching is more than coaching forehands; it’s about showing kids that progress takes time and dedication. I relate to their self-criticism in tennis and encourage them to see it as a journey. On rainy days, when most kids stay home, I’m there, helping with homework and reinforcing work ethic. Watching them grow—on and off the court—is the most rewarding part. I’ve learned leadership requires patience and consistency, and I’m proud to create opportunities for these kids, just as YTA did for me. My commitment stems from understanding their challenges. Tennis lessons are costly, often inaccessible for West Oakland families. Having practiced alone on under-funded courts, I know these barriers. This fuels my passion for political science. We must prioritize supporting underrepresented youth, as investing in them builds a brighter future. My experiences show that systemic change starts with empowering individuals through education and opportunity. This belief shapes my view of politics as community and connection. I’ve studied what wins elections, how campaigns attract or repel supporters, and how policies unify or divide. Yet my time at San Quentin and on the tennis courts taught me that politics is about people. I’m eager to study political science to understand power systems and find ways to unite people. At its core, politics is about building bridges, and I’m committed to using my voice and education to foster connection, not division.

From an early age, I’ve been intrigued by power’s role in our political system; how policies shape our lives, the strategies behind elections, and the people who drive change. My interest was galvanized in middle school during a live broadcast of the 2020 election as swing states were neck and neck, deciding the future of our society. The experience was tense and precipitated a journey of researching and understanding the inequalities in our countries political framework. Discussions about policy impacts or campaign strategies gave me a sense of belonging I hadn’t found elsewhere. It wasn’t until my Law & Social Justice class at Berkeley High that my understanding of the human element of politics truly deepened. The course contradicted my assumptions about the criminal justice system, breaking away from the media's simplistic narratives. A turning point came during our class tour of San Quentin Prison. Walking into the facility, I braced myself for what I thought would be a grim, distant experience. Instead, I met individuals who defied every stereotype I had unconsciously internalized. They spoke with hope, compassion, and deep remorse; qualities I didn’t know existed within prison walls at the time. That day, I realized how myopic societal narratives and assumptions can lead us to view people in a way that strips their humanity. This theme of polarization has resonated in my personal life, too. As someone who is North African but white-passing, when I travel with my father, who appears more Arab than I do, the contrast in how we’re treated is consistent. TSA agents often “randomly” stop and question him, treating him with suspicion, while I walk through security unbothered. Identity isn’t just about how we see ourselves; it’s also about how others perceive and react to us. My fascination with politics & personal experiences have given me a unique perspective for understanding these divides. I’ve analyzed what it takes to win elections, how campaigns either attract or repel supporters and how policies can either unify or polarize. Yet my time at San Quentin reminded me that political science isn’t just about numbers and strategies; it’s about people. It’s about understanding the true human experiences behind the policies we debate and the biases we hold. I believe my ability to identify these complexities with empathy would be a positive addition to a diverse college community. The same curiosity that led me to question the electoral system as an eighth-grader now drives me to engage with people whose perspectives differ from mine. I’m excited to study political science not just to understand systems of power but to find ways to bring people together. At its core, politics is defined by community and connection, and I’m committed to using my will, voice and education to build bridges, not walls.