The words Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. wrote 62 years ago still ring true today: “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” As a Georgia native at that time, he was referring to the racial injustice against African Americans in Birmingham, Alabama. Yet, with the current immigration policies, I cannot help but see a similar threat to justice against my immigrant neighbors all over the country. Watching the current administration undermine centuries’ worth of legal precedent is infuriating. Arresting public officials and charging congress members after trying to oversee a migrant detention center is concerning. Attempting to exclude immigrants from the guaranteed protections of the 14th Amendment is alarming. While federal judges maintain some of the President’s orders as unconstitutional, the damage is already done. People have been denied due process, and lives have been deprived of liberty. I yearn to join the legal profession because the constitutional and statutory rights of migrants, whether lawfully or unlawfully present, are in jeopardy. With a legal education, I intend to defend the constitutional rights of every person under the jurisdiction of the United States against abuses of power. By specializing in immigration law and representing disadvantaged non-citizens, I plan to emulate the equity and justice Reverend John G. Fee promoted almost 200 years ago. In 1855, Reverend Fee founded Berea College based on his conviction from Acts 17:26, “[God] hath made of one blood all nations of men” (KJV). Because of his commitment to education and equity for marginalized communities in Appalachia, he actualized God’s truth by creating the first co-educational and interracial school in the South. Simply put, he made a way for this low-income, first-generation, African American woman from Kentucky to obtain a top-tier education via a No-Tuition Scholarship. By carving out space for those who did not look like him, I aspire to follow suit and widen that space for those who do not speak the same native language. As a certified Spanish interpreter, I partially open that space by breaking the language barrier for those in my local community and telephonically for those nationwide. With only four years of formal Spanish education, I have the privilege of helping immigrants access necessary resources and information from Human Service agencies and Medicaid Centers. The most rewarding part, however, is enabling families to express their concerns during Special Education meetings or occupational therapy sessions. On one hand, serving in this capacity allows me to glimpse the plight of documented and undocumented individuals. On the other hand, I witness everyday struggles that affect American citizens and non-citizens alike. Unsurprisingly, the storms of life do not discriminate against nationality, race, or native tongue. As Acts 17:26 highlights, nothing differentiates us, as we all partake in a shared humanity. It is because of this truth and the current immigration policies, which seem to suggest otherwise, that propel me toward a legal education. With such knowledge, I can demand justice for immigrants and widen the space for all to pursue happiness. The power a legal education offers to promote equity, justice, and diversity is uncontested. The current administration is exploiting every tool of executive authority to fulfill its goal of mass deportation. Despite the permissibility of some actions, like revoking the protection status previously granted to people from South and Central American countries, the effects are catastrophic. Hundreds of thousands of people will be caught in limbo as they are subjected to the convoluted system of ever-changing immigration policies. If the integrity of the legal system remains intact, the same system this administration weaponizes can be used to stop it in its tracks. Thus, by obtaining certification in immigration law, I can effectively help those especially vulnerable to injustice overcome the current policies and their subsequent detrimental effects. My economic limitations, unfortunately, make pursuing this profession seem impossible. Student loans are my only means to afford a legal education. Yet, the uncertainty of student loan repayment plans has made applying for scholarships my third job. Nevertheless, I’m driven to pursue scholarship opportunities relentlessly because of the unmatched opportunity to achieve my aspirations through the Immigration Law Clinic at the University of California, Davis School of Law. Without distractions from such financial burdens, I can focus on acquiring essential trial skills by representing undocumented and documented individuals in removal proceedings through the clinic. Bypassing six-figure debt will undoubtedly help me promote equity and justice for diverse immigrants as I focus on defending their liberty while embracing financial freedom.

My life reflects the impact of when God’s kingdom comes, and his will is done on earth. I earned my Bachelor of Arts in Spanish and Philosophy from Berea College, where I was awarded their No-Tuition Scholarship. However, if it were not for Reverend John G. Fee who had the “extremist” idea in 1855 to make education affordable and accessible to everyone (specifically marginalized men and women in Appalachia) I, a black woman from Kentucky, would not be on the path towards a legal career almost 200 years later. His commitment to diversity and affordable education allowed me to obtain a top-tier education without financially burdening myself as a first-generation student. After only four years of learning Spanish, where I culminated my studies abroad for six months in Chile, I am now a certified Spanish interpreter for those in my local community and telephonically for those across the nation. Being a Spanish interpreter is rewarding because the more I improve my skills, the better I can serve others. I love helping immigrants navigate the technical procedures and professional terminology of social service agencies, health clinics, and public schools. I empathize with their challenges, especially when encountering specialized vocabulary in special education meetings with occupational therapists or audiologists. Thus, continuously expanding my vocabulary to increase my accuracy in interpreting spurs my passion for learning Spanish, while improving my ability to serve these individuals. However, being a Spanish interpreter as a black woman requires overcoming impostor syndrome. Most Spanish speakers are surprised that I am their interpreter. A few, including a fourth grader, have even questioned my Spanish-speaking abilities because of my skin tone. Acknowledging my limitations by asking them to reiterate or googling a translation in high-stress moments seems like defeat if I internalize their doubts. Instead, I remind myself that I was qualified to ensure both parties can understand each other, although I am not a native Spanish speaker. That awareness helps recenter my focus on the task at hand—wholly and accurately relaying their concerns and comments—instead of their preconceived judgments. Consequently, my commitment to breaking the language barrier drives my determination to seek clarification and speak for those who cannot speak for themselves. Grasping the impact my education has afforded me in helping immigrants access necessary resources, I intend to further my studies and become certified in Immigration Law at the University of California, Davis School of Law. Interning at Neighbor’s Immigration Clinic confirmed my aspiration to defend people labeled “criminal” or “illegal” for coming to this country. Working as an interpreter amplified that desire by revealing some of these individuals’ struggles and disadvantaged position because of their given status. Yet, witnessing Immigration and Customs Enforcement agencies exploit their power under the current administration solidified my unwavering resolve to fight for due process and against unjust deportation and detainment. Dr. Martin Luther King. Jr rightly stated, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” The same civil rights and protections that African Americans in this country continue to fight, bleed, and die for are blatantly being denied to immigrants. I hope to show the world we don’t have to look alike or speak the same language to love our neighbor and unite in the struggle against cruel and oppressive authority figures. As I seek God’s kingdom for immigrants in the same manner it was sought out for me, I plan to join those who understand the urgency to resist complacency and fight against our country’s despicable history from repeating itself.

Before getting my bachelor’s degree, I saw school as a means through which I could escape my emotionally traumatic life. Growing up, my mom and stepdad argued often. However, it never got out of hand until my senior year in high school. One night, when the tension peaked, I overheard my sister defending my mother. In a split second, when I opened my door and saw my stepdad towering over my mom and sister, I found myself chest to chest with a 5’10, 215-pound drunken man. With no fear, I boldly told him, “Leave!” After he was taken to jail, I went into my bathroom, locked the door, and got on my knees. That was the first time I cried out to the LORD for help. From then on, preparing for college was how I focused on escaping my circumstances. Once I got accepted into Berea College and received their No-Tuition Promise Scholarship, I thought that I’d never have to experience that trauma again. My life couldn’t have been better as I focused on my studies. I culminated my final semester studying abroad in Chile and teaching Spanish to adult Haitian Immigrants. We taught them valuable knowledge to help them adjust to their new life, like correctly reading a price tag to ensure they didn’t get overcharged while grocery shopping. Realizing the impact I could leave by combining my love for Spanish with my passion for service, I was ecstatic to return to the United States. I was blind-sighted three months before my graduation, however, when I couldn’t compartmentalize my life after ending an emotionally abusive relationship. I silently experienced my own taste of intimate partner violence, and I was stuck. After all that I had accomplished, how could I let what I witnessed and experienced in my mother’s relationship happen to me? Ignoring my emotional turmoil, I tunnel-visioned on graduating. As I crossed the stage and was honored with the title “Summa Cum Laude,” I felt like a fraud. I achieved academic success as I had set out to do; I did what no other person in my family had done and received the highest honor of recognition. Still, what was all my toil and labor worth if I found myself in the same cycle of abuse and trauma I was trying to avoid? A year after graduating, I learned a crucial lesson I missed that night on the bathroom floor in my mom’s house: Life is not about avoiding hardship—it’s about learning to create the life you want despite its inevitable storms. I thought I failed because I experienced a cycle of abuse. Yet, experiencing an abusive relationship did not nullify the utility and greatness of earning a bachelor’s degree, let alone an interpreter’s certification. If anything, it uncovered what society cannot teach me: hardship will come via my actions or despite them. Therefore, I must find hope to overcome what I experience and seek purpose from those challenges to fuel that hope. Once I properly appreciated my certified ability to speak Spanish, I recognized the power I possessed to create a life that wouldn’t fall apart when storms came. By pursuing a career in interpreting, I’ve found the perfect tool that grants gratification and engenders the pathway to a greater purpose in studying law. Although I love interpreting, I’m more passionate about helping Spanish-speaking individuals navigate through government or government-funded agencies. Accomplishing the traumatic feat of migrating to this country demonstrates how nothing stops immigrants from creating the life they want. However, the legal systems and procedures to which these individuals are subject dare to say otherwise. I’ve witnessed how an immigrant’s status limits their ability to access resources, potentially subjecting them to legal ramifications. Getting a sneak peek at how an immigration status inevitably impacts other areas of immigrants’ lives ignites my desire to study immigration law and understand the complexities of this system. Moreover, it burdens me to interpret disparaging or indifferent responses when these people attempt to advocate for themselves and are dismissed. Since my interpreter role prohibits me from advocating on their behalf, I aim to become an immigration lawyer and give these individuals the tools they need to navigate through the convoluted storm called bureaucracy. Through serving them, I intend to fuel their hope to overcome their circumstances and inspire them to continue creating a life that withstands this country’s attempt to define it.