I grew up the son of two entrepreneurial African American parents, watching daily how they maintained our family’s standing despite their lack of college degrees; they made something from what could have been nothing. Eventually, they divorced—but they kept going, believing that their hard work would carry us through. And, while in many ways, it has, their work takes its toll on their minds and bodies, and especially in my custodial father’s case, the financial return is meager unless he sacrifices even more of his health. So, for me, being a first-generation college student means more than just being the first person to graduate from college; it means breaking a cycle, for I’ve seen firsthand where one’s career road can end without the pull of a college degree. This isn’t to say that I don’t love my family or respect the work they’ve put in—but I want to go further than where they went, not just for myself, but for others. That’s why I plan to study public policy at the University of Michigan - Ann Arbor. Leaders like Jane Jacobs, Frances Perkins, and Henry George have shown me how policy can radically improve people’s lives, from housing and labor reforms to taxes that make communities fairer and more equitable. I want to be someone who does something real—something to help people. But I can’t do it alone. As a first-generation student from a low-income background, the road to and through college is steep. Scholarships like the Phoenix Opportunity Award don’t just ease that climb—they make it possible. With your help, I won’t just be taking another step toward a college degree; I’ll be taking a step into a brighter future, not just for myself, but for everyone I’ll uplift.

“If this world were mine”—words from Luther Vandross’s classic, repopularized by Kendrick Lamar and SZA’s “luther.” While music trivia is interesting, I want to spin those words for my own usage: If this world were mine to affect, I’d take a page from the Gilded Age to make something new. Merriam-Webster’s dictionary defines a settlement house as “an institution providing various community services especially to large city populations.” In the United States, settlement houses sprung up in urban centers during the late 1800s amidst a backdrop of rising inequality, lagging public services, and a society reeling from the effects of the Second Industrial Revolution. Although we don’t face that exact set of problems today, there remains a pressing issue: a lack of equity. That inequity shows up clearly in the inner cities of our nation’s urban areas, where millions of citizens in the wealthiest country on earth still struggle. Why is that? To fully answer that question, I would have to go far beyond the scope of this essay—but much of it boils down to a lack of access to resources. So, what can be done? Well, we have to start somewhere, and for me, that somewhere is Detroit. My church is on the East Side of Detroit, and I’ve traveled to and from service nearly every week of my life. Routinely, I’ve seen firsthand what happens when neighborhoods are underinvested in—but I’ve also seen what can happen when resources return. If I were to start a charity, I’d establish a network of privately-run, nonprofit residential settlement houses. Each one would serve as a base for educational enrichment, mechanical and life skills development, digital access, and safe community-building. Volunteers would serve as tutors, mentors, workshop leaders, tech support, and companions—helping residents rise and rebuild. As a proud member of the College, Career & Beyond/Midnight Golf Program (CCB/MGP) Class of 2025, I know that this sort of investment works. CCB/MGP has shaped how I have begun to approach college, adulthood, and the world, and it has shown me what true mentorship and structure can do. I’m also involved in theater and my church, and I caddie and play for my school’s golf team. Altogether, my activities have taught me more than just the lessons of self-improvement, discipline, and hard work; they’ve taught me the value of serving others. That final lesson is what drives me to pursue my dream of 21st-century settlement houses. This fall, I’ll be leaving University K-12 Academy, the public college preparatory school I’ve called home for six years, for the University of Michigan-Ann Arbor, where I plan to enter the Gerald R. Ford School of Public Policy in my junior year, hoping to learn more about the policies that impact urban areas and the lives of those within them. Further, through the Michigan Community Scholars Program and Dance Marathon at U-M, I strongly aspire to uplift the lives of those who need it.  At the start of this essay, I said “if” this world were mine to affect. But with the support of the Aserina Hill Memorial Scholarship, that “if” will become “since.” Because with faith, passion, and a purpose rooted in service, I will make a difference—one program, one building, one person at a time.

Growing up in a single-parent household has greatly shaped my resilience, identity, and aspirations. My father, a self-employed Black man in his sixties, has been fundamental in the upbringing of my brothers and I, constantly demonstrating grit, wisdom, and unwavering love. In a community where fatherhood has not seen the same social status as in other ethnic groups, my father’s persistent presence and mentorship have been invaluable in shaping me into the strong Black man I strive to be. My dad’s many sacrifices and exemplary determination have taught me the importance of hard work, self-improvement, and caring for others—lessons I will carry daily as I continue to grow. One of the most significant ways my father has impacted my life is through his work ethic. Starting in the middle of a once-in-a-lifetime pandemic, he has shouldered the financial responsibility of providing for my brother and I, making sure that we never have to deal with unmet needs and wants in spite of the hardships. Seeing his perseverance as he *continues* to work tirelessly has given me a strong drive to succeed—not just for myself but to eventually pay him back in return. My father has shown me that hard work isn’t just about personal gain but about helping those who need it the most, including those who paved the road ahead of us. Beyond showcasing financial responsibility, my father has been a profound mentor, shaping my mindset and approach to life. For years, he has exposed me to the wisdom of figures such as Earl Nightingale, Dr. Myles Munroe, Les Brown, and above all, the “Carpenter from the Plains of Galilee.” Through these many lessons, I have learned how to think wisely, manage money responsibly, and pursue continuous self-improvement. In tandem with those lessons, however, my father has made an active effort to show me grace and teach me how to apply it to myself. My father’s guidance has helped me navigate the fine balance between ambition and self-compassion, ensuring that I don’t fall for the fool’s-gold-glitter of perfectionism. Although the exact direction of my professional path is up in the air, one thing remains clear: I want to use what I gain from my education to help others. My experiences growing up in my father’s single-parent household have given me an integral appreciation for service. I have had numerous experiences enriching others, having been the sound manager at my church, an actor for my school’s drama club, and a volunteer at a Detroit food bank. So, whether it be through technical work, engaging crowds, or assisting through community involvement, I aim to share the lessons I have learned by being a light to people stuck in darkness. Winning the Marie J. Lamerique Scholarship for Aspiring Scholars will not only help me achieve my goals education-wise but also allow me to honor my father’s sacrifices by continuing the legacy of grit, wisdom, and unwavering love he has instilled in me. By investing in my future, this opportunity will equip me with the tools I need to give back to my family and community, ensuring that the values my father has taught me can be passed down to others. His dedication has given me the foundation to work harder, dream bigger, and ultimately make a lasting impact.

The “East Side” of Detroit—an area that is locally infamous for the issues that plague what was once half of the "Arsenal of Democracy" during the Second World War. The East Side is a place I saw often growing up, as my family’s church is located there. On a regular basis, I bore witness to abandoned homes, derelict business fronts, a lack of equitable mobility and food access, and the prevalence of poverty. For years I observed, hearing about the prosperous history of Detroit’s “Black Bottom”, only for that triumphant tale to be upended by disastrous decades of policies that have left much of the City of Detroit in need of revitalization. But despite my manifold observations, I was still unable to fully see the complexities that wove together to tell Detroit’s full story. During the COVID-19 pandemic, however, I became acquainted with the topic of “urbanism.” In my studies, I learned how a zoning-code-mandated overreliance on single-family housing has limited the number of available and affordable dwelling units for a variety of family types and lifestyles. I became aware of how our nation’s rampant car dependency leaves many people with unequal access to mobility, seeing as they lack genuinely viable alternatives to private motor vehicles. I have seen how legislation meant to "help the people" ends up stifled in state government, rendering no visible end to decades of blight. I became a radical, possessing an immense desire to promote a complete change to how our society was organized. My demands ranged from subsidized and encouraged co-operative housing; a land value tax to upend the unproductive landholding practices of wealthy speculators; and the establishment of a system of local, readily-accessible community centers meant to grant both academic and vocational educational opportunities for all, be they better-off or impoverished, young or old, or Black or White. As time has waned, so has my fire—but don’t let that make you think that I’ve lost my desire; my desire to grow, help, and uplift. You may be wondering what I mean; therefore, I will now explain. Raising awareness and fighting for change, while demonstrably successful methods, can still cause long waits only to see our desires half-fulfilled. That is why we must also invest our resources in ourselves—specifically, in our education. I will attend the University of Michigan-Ann Arbor in the fall of this year, 2025. As a student there, I will be actively engaged in the highly-flexible assortment of courses I will have the opportunity to select from as a student in the College of Literature, Sciences, and Arts before I ultimately attend the Gerald R. Ford School of Public Policy come my junior year. During my time in Ann Arbor, I will glean invaluable information about the world around us and the policies that shape it--and thereby, our daily lives--receiving a world-class education whose fruits I will be able to take with me back to from where I came. But in order for me to access my future as an active, assistance-oriented African-American in Ann Arbor this autumn, I need financial assistance. With the help of the BIPOC Urban Innovators Scholarship, both my community and I can take a step towards ascendancy. As a Wolverine, I will thrive, and the knowledge I obtain will enable my people to come alive; to be reborn, to see a new beginning. When I walk across that stage, all of my people will be winning.

My powerful zest for history can largely be traced back to a book I received at a young age. That book introduced me to the world’s geography, nations, and cultures, sparking a lifelong fascination with the stories that shape our world. From that moment, I made a conscious effort to learn more, whether it was by watching History Channel documentaries in my spare time, reading books with a clamp-on light during car rides home from Detroit Tigers games, or engaging my family in endless conversations about the past. As my interest in history deepened, I took my passion a step further by creating and operating my own micronation with my peers. This gave me invaluable, hands-on exposure to governance and an early understanding of societal structures. I continued to learn during the COVID-19 pandemic, discovering new ways to interact with history, including The Campaign Trail and an interactive alternate history series called “Peacock-Shah Alternate Elections” (PSAE). In The Campaign Trail, I stepped into the shoes of historical presidential candidates, navigating the policies and events of their campaigns. PSAE allowed me to actively shape history by voting in fictional elections while exploring real historical figures and themes. These experiences not only expanded my knowledge but also introduced me to like-minded individuals from around the globe, helping me better understand diverse perspectives and narratives. At the same time, my heightened intake of literature strengthened my less-structured historical foundation. I explored notable works such as The Woman Behind the New Deal by Kirsten Downey, The Populist Revolt by John D. Hicks, and The Death and Life of Great American Cities by Jane Jacobs, each of which broadened my understanding of history’s relevance to modern life. In addition, my time spent taking AP World History: Modern, sharpened my ability to analyze historical trends and connect them to broader global contexts. Through these experiences, I’ve come to realize that my love for history is more than just a personal interest—it’s a tool I want to use to help others. I am an African American, and many people in and outside my community struggle to see the relevance of history, government, and politics in their lives. I want to bridge that gap by making history accessible and engaging, showing others that the past isn’t just a series of dates and events but a vital force shaping their present and future. Winning the Joseph C. Lowe Memorial Scholarship would enable me to take crucial steps toward this goal. This opportunity would allow me to continue exploring the field of history and develop my ability to “make history plain” for others, inspiring them to see its value in shaping their lives and our collective future.

Everything. That’s what anyone would have assumed I had. I’m blessed with good height, charm, and remarkable academic ability. I’ve grown up with a loving family in a safe environment wherein I haven’t ever faced wondering if I’d eat at night. To most people, I had it all—so why was I sad? I was told I looked good, but I never saw it for myself. I was uncomfortable in my own body and wondered what was wrong with me. On top of that, I was hard on myself, fueling my anxiety as I worked like a dog on my schoolwork, leaving no time for joy or rest. It got to a point where it felt like when I wasn’t sulking, I was slaving away at my studies. My life became aimless, unfulfilling, and without hope. But then, I reached my breaking point. In my darkest moments, I turned to my family and opened up about my struggles. Their love and support lit a spark within me to change. I decided that I would no longer live my life the way I had been. I embarked on a complete self-reconstruction—from the inside out. My road was not easy–but, oh, was it worth every step. I endeavored to rebuild my self-confidence, “putting myself out there”, not always succeeding but continuing anyways. I put real effort into my faith, finding a renewed sense of purpose and being born again spiritually. My mental health journey went through violent turbulence, but I persisted—seeking support from family, friends, and even professionals. I committed myself to improving my physical health, finding solace in fitness and self-care. Over months that turned into years, I restructured my life, brick by brick. Now, as I prepare to close my high school chapter, I can see the fruits of my labor. I’m not the same person I once was. I’ve become a vessel of light, someone who’s endured the storms of life and emerged with faith, grit, and perseverance as my anchors. Through my trials, I’ve also found wisdom and strength, and have grown deeply aware of the challenges that young Black men like myself face with mental health—how stigma and neglect can lead to cycles of struggle, poverty, and violence. But I’m living proof that it doesn’t have to be that way. I’m Lance Julian Lanier, a king-in-waiting with a passion to inspire others. My journey isn’t just about overcoming trials; it’s about being a beacon for those still fighting through them. With the support of the Michael Valdivia Scholarship, I will continue to soar and continue to show young men—especially young Black men—that it’s okay to seek help, stumble, and ultimately rise again. We need kindness, unity, and love to break down walls and shatter the stigma surrounding mental health. It’s easier said than done, but it’s possible. I am one testament to that truth, and I hope to be one of many. Thank you.