I plan to use my law degree to address the homelessness crisis. Imagine navigating the world and seeing barriers remain in existence that keep you impoverished and oppressed. That was my reality. Growing up, I believed that if my parents worked harder, I would not have to care for four younger siblings at the age of nine. I assumed that if my parents had better jobs, we could afford more affluent lifestyles like some of my peers. Despite my age, I criticized my parents for the life we lived. It was not until I was educated in the depths of poverty that I realized that my family’s socioeconomic status was not something I could blame them for. Experiencing moments of near homelessness was an introduction to my passion for addressing the homelessness crisis, and working in pretrial case management before law school solidified my activism around abolishing homelessness. The criminalization of homelessness has been a longstanding issue, but has recently increased due to the Supreme Court’s ruling in City of Grants Pass v. Johnson. Existing shelters are at capacity and lack resources to provide for those in their care. Because of overcrowded and underfunded shelters, people are left with no choice but to live in public spaces. Moreover, if people do seek shelter, most shelters do not have proper accommodations for people who experience complex health needs and disabilities. As a result, people who lack shelter are more likely to be exposed to violence by law enforcement and targeted through criminalization efforts. As a future attorney, I believe my role extends beyond court representation. It can look like creating accessible legal clinics to help our unhoused neighbors work through civil or criminal penalties. Many law school legal clinics assist homeless people in clearing their citations and fines; however, I want to find ways to ensure that clinics do not require unhoused people to be technologically proficient. This means making required documents accessible in paper format and not solely online. It also means offering bus vouchers to people who must travel to reach the legal clinic. I also want to use my activism to work with social movements to push city council members to redirect funds to address the homelessness crisis. This can be through fighting for participatory budgeting at the statewide level. Participatory budgeting is a process where community members directly decide how allocated money gets spent through a public vote. I believe lawyers can play a role in fighting for participatory budgets by helping community members draft project proposals and contracts. Having worked on the African American Roundtable Participatory Budget campaign, we were able to divest funds from Milwaukee Police to support a community garden and community pantry, with the collaboration of lawyers who were part of our movement. Additionally, I want to help community members create safety plans. For example, during the 2025 Super Bowl, New Orleans officials pushed homeless people out of their encampments into a temporary warehouse over nine miles away. Community members expressed not being able to find individuals who they had connections, so safety plans in their instance could have been used to ensure that loved ones could be accounted for. Because lawyers have skills drafting documents and reading through dense materials, training on community safety plans could be helpful. I want to reimagine a world where lawyers played bigger roles outside of litigation, a world where people become comfortable straying away from an individualistic mindset. Homelessness has been an issue embedded in our world for centuries, and the only way to abolish it is if people normalize not being complacent.

My first defenders were my parents and grandparents. They raised me to challenge systems, question everything, and most importantly, to never remain silent. At the time, I did not understand how profound the phrase “never remain complacent” could be. That simple phrase would go on to shape my identity. It became the foundation of my mindset and the principles I ground myself in. My family taught me not to blindly accept limitations, to question everything, to confront challenges head-on, to create new solutions. Growing up, I truly believed that if my parents had worked harder, I would not have had to take care of four younger siblings at the age of nine. Despite my young age, I did not understand how my parents could work so hard but we could not afford the lavish lifestyles like my more affluent peers. It was not until I learned how systemic poverty was that I realized I could not place blame on my parents. The disenfranchisement of low-income neighborhoods is a result of centuries of racism and oppression, making life more difficult for marginalized people. Instead of resenting my family for our low income, I began to learn about the importance of support systems and mutual aid. For that reason, in December 2021, I founded Bronze Confessions. What started as a mentorship program slowly grew into an organization that provides workshops and school advice for marginalized students seeking post-secondary education. Students should not have to suffer for wanting to further their education, and I am proud to have created an organization that supports them on their journey. As a first-generation college graduate, I remember working four jobs to pay for my tuition under a payment plan. I recall the nights when I cried coming home from work at 11pm and still having to complete homework and study for classes. While my community could not offer monetary support, they made sure to help by packing me meals each week. It was that village that made my success as a first-generation college student possible despite my financial circumstances. In Summer 2023, I had to put my business on hold to prepare for the LSAT. It was a journey that not only prepared me to enter the legal field but also ingrained in me the value of perseverance. As a Black woman who had to navigate the law school application process on my own, I have experienced how overwhelming it can be without having a support system knowledgeable of the law school process. My journey applying to law school is something many first-generation students experience. Often, our journeys are marked by wanting to accomplish something while figuring out the challenges as we go. My prelaw journey was filled with long nights, tears, and attempting to enter a race where many others were lightyears ahead of me. The legal profession has been shaped by systems that make entry into the profession inaccessible to those without connections and financial resources. Because of my background, I find myself inspired to use my legal education after my law career to expand my business to include free mentorship for marginalized prelaw students. I aim to cultivate a space where students are not only supported through the law school application process but also reminded that they belong in the legal field despite the barriers that may be in place. When I think of diversifying the legal field, I think about pouring into students who may not have the same access to resources like their more affluent peers. With mentorship programs becoming more difficult to be accepted into, serving as a law school mentor for second year law students, incoming first year law students and prelaw students at other institutions, reminds of why the legal profession should be more diverse. Many students are struggling with how our political climate has changed over the last two years. With changes to things like the LSAT and loan options, students are navigating territories that even current attorneys did not have to deal with. While I am a few years away from becoming a lawyer, I know the law will be a tool I use to amplify service work. In the future, I plan to use my legal education to establish more free legal mentorship programs. I aim to offer comprehensive programs that address navigating different career pathways, employment support, and wellness resources. My life experiences have inspired me to use my legal education as a tool for liberation. The insights I have gained from my family and community work have only strengthened my commitment to social justice and legal advocacy. In a society where the disenfranchisement of marginalized people remains common, I am dedicated to creating solutions that help end the cycle of exclusion.

Community, to me, is everything. It is the support system that lifts me up when the path ahead feels unfamiliar, the people who see my potential even before I do, and the spaces that remind me of home, even though I am physically away. As a first-generation, low-income student, community has been my foundation. One that has shaped my character, empowered me to give back with purpose, taught me not to blindly accept limitations, to confront challenges head-on, and, if need be, to build new solutions. In December 2021, I founded Bronze Confessions. What started as a mentorship program slowly grew into an organization that provides workshops and school advice for marginalized students seeking post-secondary education. Students should not have to suffer for wanting to further their education, and I am proud to have created an organization that supports them on their journey. As a first-generation college graduate, I remember working four jobs to pay for my tuition under a payment plan. I recall the nights when I cried coming home from work at 11pm and still having to complete homework and study for classes. While my community could not offer monetary support, they made sure to help by packing me meals each week. It was people pouring into me using the resources they knew how to use best. It was that village that made my success as a first-generation college student possible despite my financial circumstances. In Summer 2023, I had to put my business on hold to prepare for the LSAT. It was a journey that not only prepared me to enter the legal field but also ingrained in me the value of perseverance. As a Black woman who had to navigate the law school application process on my own, I have experienced how overwhelming it can be without having a support system knowledgeable of the law school process. My journey applying to law school is something many first-generation students experience. Often, our journeys are marked by wanting to accomplish something while figuring out the challenges as we go. My prelaw journey was filled with long nights, tears, and attempting to enter a race where many others were lightyears ahead of me. The legal profession has been shaped by systems that make entry into the profession inaccessible to those without connections and financial resources. Because of my background, I find myself inspired to use my legal education after my law career to expand my business to include free mentorship for marginalized prelaw students. I aim to cultivate a space where students are not only supported through the law school application process but also reminded that they belong in the legal field despite the barriers that may be in place. When I think of my trademark, I want to be known for building a free and accessible community that reminds students that they can draw on the ambition of their support systems to guide them through hardships.

My understanding of the law did not begin in the classroom; it started in my community. At the age of twelve, I found myself deeply influenced by the transformative work of grassroots organizers and movement lawyers in my community. The struggles my family faced, which often intersected with the legal system, and the resilience of our community, demonstrated through mutual aid and town hall meetings, left an indelible mark on me. The way our community came together, amplifying one another's needs through mutual aid, was a powerful lesson in unity. Even at a young age, my socioeconomic status inspired me to learn more about community organizing. Growing up, I always wondered why my community looked different from more affluent neighborhoods, but at my age, I did not quite understand. The disenfranchisement of low-income neighborhoods is a result of centuries of racism and oppression, making life harder for marginalized people. However, being exposed to the community organizing space allowed me to join my dad at town hall meetings focused on lawmaking, and that is where my radical praxis began, because I got to see how policy decisions impacted my community. Despite the harmful policy decisions enacted in my community, like policies that significantly reduced Temporary Assistance for Needy Families (TANF), I vividly remember my neighbors' endless support, from providing hot meals to those in need to picking up children from school when families lacked transportation. This experience taught me the meaning of the phrase, "It takes a village." My passion for social justice and legal advocacy was ignited by my lived experiences. This is why I want to develop my criminal defense, legal advocacy, and community outreach skills in law school. It is also the reason why I wanted to pursue criminal and civil rights law in the first place, so I could create change in my community. In August 2020, at just nineteen years old, my activism took a significant turn. I remember the realization that I could not enter my sophomore year of undergraduate, feeling like I did not belong. I was living in fear that, once again, I would be in classrooms where people viewed me as a spokesperson for my race. Even though my former University had a rich history of Black leaders, there were no existing frameworks for Black students to thrive on campus. This is why I spent the Summer of 2020 working alongside other Black leaders to compose a list of demands and initiatives to make the campus more inclusive. By channeling the legacy of Black activists and movement lawyers, I participated in a historical sit-in that established multiple full-time positions for Black and Brown therapists, an inclusive curriculum to reflect Black perspectives, a more robust student partnership with campus faculty committees, and a yearly full-tuition scholarship program for 45 marginalized students. These initiatives have significantly impacted the campus community, and I am proud of my role in making these changes. During the sit-in, I felt a profound sense of empowerment, knowing that my actions gave future students the framework they needed to succeed. This empowerment is a testament to the determination and commitment to social justice that I bring to my work. That momentum did not stop at the sit-in; it became a catalyst for other community initiatives, such as creating a food insecurity program on my school’s campus. Having commuter friends and it being the first full year of COVID inspired me to establish a program that allowed students to receive hot meals both on campus and to take home. Students often have to choose between having food in their stomachs and attending class, and I wanted to bridge the gap so they did not have to choose between the two. Since its creation, the program has helped over 1,000 students. My journey as an activist has taught me that advocacy is a non-linear process. It is a journey marked by moments of transformation and vulnerability. This is the power of advocacy. It is this power that drives me to merge my passion for activism and law, envisioning a future in which legal professionals and clients work together to advance movement-based litigation. A law degree, with a concentration in criminal defense and civil rights, will equip me with the knowledge to stand alongside others in our collective pursuit of societal progress. This means helping break down dense bills, teaching people their rights, and helping community members find strategic ways to hold their elected officials or campus administration accountable. After Law School, I hope to open a mobile legal clinic to provide legal representation and the resources indigent clients need to reintegrate into society. This is a solution that can help end the disenfranchisement of justice-impacted individuals, advance the fight for liberation, and allow me to be a village for others.

In August 2020, the trajectory of my activism shifted in a way that would shape the rest of my journey. I remember preparing to enter my sophomore year, weighed down by the feeling that I did not belong. I feared returning to classrooms where I would once again be viewed as a spokesperson for my race. Although Marquette University had a strong history of Black student leaders, there were no real systems in place to ensure Black students could thrive. That summer, I joined other Black student leaders to create a set of initiatives aimed at making campus more inclusive and equitable. Inspired by the legacy of Black activists before me, I helped organize a sit-in that led to tangible change: the creation of a Black therapist position, a more inclusive curriculum that uplifted Black perspectives, and the annual awarding of full-tuition scholarships to 45 marginalized students. I remember sitting in that space, surrounded by others who wanted better, and feeling an overwhelming sense of pride. We had given future students a foundation we never had. Support poured in from students, alumni, and over thirty thousand people watching on Facebook Live. My role in that sit-in became even more meaningful when I was elected the first Black woman to serve as Executive Vice President of Marquette University Student Government. Through that position, I saw firsthand how advocacy can create lasting change. But it also exposed me to the more painful side of leadership. After my election, I received death threats—an experience that made clear the cost of being vocal in spaces that resist progress. Adversity, however, was not a new experience for me. Growing up, I saw how my community came together in times of need, even when necessities were scarce. Through mutual aid, we made sure no one was left behind. That collective care taught me early on that activism is not just about protests or policy—it is about people and the belief that we all deserve dignity. It is also a reminder that I come from a lineage of resistance, which is why I feel called to confront systems of oppression head-on. Georgetown Law reflects my aspirations to become a civil rights and criminal defense attorney. Its outstanding academic programs, commitment to justice, and wide-ranging clinics offer precisely the kind of preparation I am seeking. I am particularly drawn to Curriculum B and its approach to examining how social problems become legal ones. I am excited by the Criminal Defense and Prisoner Advocacy Clinic and the Center on Poverty and Inequality, both of which align with my drive to address structural disparities. These experiences will build on what I have learned as a Pretrial Case Manager supporting people as they reenter society. Georgetown’s location also means proximity to influential organizations like the Innocence Project and the DC Justice Lab, which will allow me to deepen my impact. Georgetown’s history of producing attorneys who lead with integrity reassures me that I will be both supported and challenged as I grow into the advocate I hope to become. My time as a student activist and as Executive Vice President taught me that advocacy is rarely a straight line. The work can be exhausting and painful, but it can also be transformational. Every step we take today lays the groundwork for a future where others can walk more freely. True activism shows up in how we live, how we serve, and how we lead. I intend to bring that same spirit into the legal field by building movement-driven litigation that centers on the voices of those most impacted. A law degree will expand my ability to stand in solidarity with others committed to justice. And every time I see the statistics about Black women in law, I am reminded why my presence matters—why I must keep going because my voice is needed now more than ever.

Two months into our freshman year of college, my close friend left school. Not because of grades, not because she did not want to be here, but because of what the police did to her. She had a traumatic encounter just off campus, and suddenly, the excitement she once had about starting college turned into fear and isolation. She was not from the state, did not have family nearby, and when she reached out for help, no one knew how to support her. She packed her bags quietly, without ceremony, and disappeared from a place she worked so hard to get to. That moment changed me. It made me realize how higher education can fail students who fall outside the narrow definition of “traditional.” It made me ask, Who gets to belong here? Who gets to stay? And who gets left behind? I want to build an organization that helps non-traditional students, especially those who were formerly incarcerated—not just get into college but stay, succeed, and feel like they belong. Too often, these students carry heavy histories into systems that expect them to leave their past at the door but offer no real resources to help them move forward. I want to create something that meets students where they are, honors their lived experiences, and walks with them—not ahead of them or around them—on their educational journeys. My organization will provide comprehensive support, including mentorship, legal advocacy, trauma-informed counseling, and academic guidance. I envision partnerships with universities that are committed to equity and reentry-friendly policies, which support the successful transition of formerly incarcerated individuals back into society. I imagine students like my friend not being forced to leave but being surrounded by people who ask, “What do you need to stay?” As a first-generation college student, I have had to teach myself how to navigate systems that were not designed with me in mind. But I have also learned the power of community and how it can uplift, support, and fight for others. My friend’s story and the stories of so many others deserve more than silence. They deserve action. They deserve systems that listen, support and evolve. I am building a future where students who have been locked out or pushed out are welcomed in, where they are seen in full, and where healing and higher education go hand in hand. That future begins with compassion, structure, and a commitment to never letting anyone fall through the cracks again.

I come from a lineage of people who were never meant to survive within the systems they were forced into, yet they dreamed of something more. Those dreams now live in me. I pursue higher education not only for myself, but for those whose opportunities were stolen, limited, or denied. My path to college was not handed to me. It was carved out by generations of struggle, and sharpened by my own decision to break cycles, challenge expectations, and rewrite what is possible. In the late 1960s, at the height of the Civil Rights Movement, Black and Brown students at Marquette University demanded their own table. They were tired of being excluded from institutions that claimed to be about justice and truth, yet refused to make space for their presence and brilliance. Their organizing led to the creation of the Educational Opportunity Program (EOP) at Marquette, one of the first federally funded TRIO programs in the nation. EOP was not a gift from the university; it was a demand met after resistance, a product of students and communities who believed that equity must be action, not just words. Decades later, their vision reached me. During my senior year of high school, one of my teachers, a Marquette alum, pulled me aside after class. She told me that I reminded her of herself, and that I needed to look into Marquette. At first, I didn’t see how I fit into a private university. But she insisted. She told me about EOP and how it had changed her life. That conversation planted a seed, one that would grow into a decision that changed the trajectory of my life. I applied to Marquette and was accepted into the EOP Summer Bridge Program, which allowed me to take college-level courses for credit the summer before my freshman year. That summer, I did not just learn how to succeed academically, I learned that I belonged. EOP became more than a program. It was my foundation, my safety net, and my launchpad. I entered the fall semester ahead of schedule, confident in my abilities and supported by a community that knew my story before I even told it. As a first-generation college student, I had to teach myself how to navigate higher education. But I was never alone. I walked through doors opened by student protest, by legislative advocacy, by the unwavering belief of educators like my 12th grade professor. I have prepared for this journey by saying yes to growth, yes to discomfort, and yes to forging a path that no one in my family had walked before. Higher education is not just my goal. It is my responsibility. I carry the history of EOP with me, and I do not take that lightly. Because of EOP, and the people who believed in me, I am not just surviving, I am building, leading, and thriving.

The original Islanders and the Casa Amor bombshells go head-to-head in a courtroom-style showdown. Each Islander must stand trial as past Casa Amor antics are revealed through messy receipts, anonymous confessions, and never seen footage. Each Islander is judged not just by their partner, but by the entire Villa. How It Works: The fire pit is transformed into a dramatic “Island Tribunal” with themed decor: red carpet, judge’s gavel, dramatic lighting, and a “truth chair.” Islanders are split into: Defendants (those who recoupled or acted wild in Casa Amor); Witnesses (Casa bombshells with tea or receipts); Judges (current partners + rest of the Villa) Gameplay: Each "Defendant" sits in the truth chair and faces 2 rounds: "Present the Evidence" – Casa Amor bombshells share anonymous quotes, screen grabs, or voice messages collected during Casa. (Example: “Someone said they weren’t even thinking about their OG partner.”) "Cross the Line" – Current partners ask one bold question (ex. “Would you have stayed with me if you were not caught?--EXAMPLE: Aaron and Kaylor or even Miguel and Leah) After each round, all Islanders vote: Loyal OR Liar Points are earned based on how many people believe the Islander was telling the truth. Lowest-scoring Islander faces a “Casa Comeback” dare, chosen by the bombshells, like reenacting their Casa kiss in front of their OG partner. Why I believe this would be interesting: Reopens unfinished Casa Amor business: Forces everyone to deal with what they thought they got away with. While we do have movie night, there were people (Kendall and Rob) who had nothing shown about them but they did engage in casa amor antics. It keeps the group dynamics fresh and puts pressure on new and old couples equally.

I did not meet a Black lawyer until I was twenty-one years old. By then, I had already navigated most of my life translating pain into composure, injustice into silence. As a first-generation Black woman and the eldest daughter in a working-class family, I was often tasked with responsibilities I did not ask for, interpreting bills, advocating for relatives, mediating household tension. It was in these moments that I first learned what advocacy looked like. Not in courtrooms, but in living rooms. Not with titles, but with tenacity. Yet despite being a natural advocate, the legal profession felt impossibly distant. When I researched the path to law school, I did not see people who looked like me at the center of the legal conversation, I saw us being sentenced, surveilled, and silenced. The law had always been something done to my community, rarely something shaped by us. I realized then that my presence in this field would not be an accident. It would be an act of resistance. I am now a first-year law student with a vision that is bigger than a degree. I came to law school not to join the system as it is, but to challenge what it has always been. I came to dismantle the false narratives that uphold structural racism and to amplify the lived truths of those the law has historically marginalized. My legal education is not just a personal achievement, it is a communal investment. I carry my ancestors, my younger siblings, my community, all those who were told they did not belong in rooms of power. I walk into each classroom knowing I am not the exception. I am part of the solution. To promote equity, justice, and diversity in the legal field, I have committed myself to transformative legal advocacy, working to reduce harm, divest from systems of punishment, and build community-based alternatives to incarceration. I plan to use my legal training to work in public defense and movement lawyering, centering the needs of directly impacted people rather than institutions. In addition to my legal work, I founded Bronzed Confessions, a nonprofit dedicated to empowering Black girls through scholarships, mentorship, and career navigation. I am also launching a literacy-focused tutoring program in Baltimore, understanding that early access to language and critical thinking is one of the first lines of defense against systemic criminalization. The disparities in the legal field are not a coincidence. They are the result of generations of exclusion, underinvestment, and systemic bias. But I believe that change happens when we create what we did not inherit. I plan to mentor other aspiring Black legal professionals, create networks of care, and challenge gatekeeping norms in legal spaces. Because representation alone is not enough, we need transformation. The Providence Ebubechi Napoleon Scholarship represents more than financial support. It symbolizes a legacy of courage, brilliance, and change-making. With your investment, I will continue to carve space for Black voices in the legal field, not as tokens, but as architects of justice. This is not just my career. It is my calling.

I used to think breathing was automatic, until anxiety taught me otherwise. There were days when my chest felt like it was collapsing under pressure I could not name, when the room spun even though I was sitting still. I did not know that what I was feeling had a name, let alone that it was something I could face head-on. As the eldest daughter in a Black household, I was taught to be strong, to handle it, to keep going. But anxiety does not care about strength, it creeps in quietly, even when you're doing your best to hold everything together. I spent much of my life in survival mode. I became the caretaker, the problem-solver, the emotional anchor. People came to me with their pain, but I rarely had the space to explore my own. That pressure created a storm inside me: overthinking, panic, perfectionism. For a long time, I believed that my worth was tied to how much I could carry. But anxiety made me ask: What happens when the person everyone depends on is the one silently falling apart? I hit a point where I knew I had two choices, keep pretending or start healing. So, I learned to breathe. I found language for what I was feeling. I went to therapy. I opened up to friends. I started choosing myself, not out of selfishness, but out of survival. And from that place of honesty, I found purpose. I started using my journey as a way to inspire others to find the language to discuss how they may feel. In Black households social anxiety feels taboo to talk about. People use words like "crazy and insane" as it pertains to mental health but I have been an anchor in helping people unlearn that dehumanizing language. Pursuing a college degree is not just about earning credentials. It is about reclaiming my life on my terms. It is about showing the next generation, especially Black girls like me, that we are allowed to rest, to ask for help, and to succeed without sacrificing our mental health. I want to use my education to become a changemaker in my community, to build systems that see the whole person, not just their productivity. This degree is my breath. It is proof that I can live, not just survive. That I can create, serve, and thrive, while healing. I am no longer holding my breath to get by. I am inhaling my purpose, and exhaling my power.

Before I ever stepped foot in a courtroom, I knew what injustice felt like. Not through textbooks or case law, but in the silences I held as a child, the moments when I translated adult pain into comfort, when I helped raise my siblings, or when I became the emotional anchor in a home that often mistook survival for peace. As a first-generation Black woman, the eldest daughter of my family, I carried what I was never meant to hold. But instead of breaking beneath the weight, I decided to turn it into a mission, one that would transform not only my life, but the lives of others who, like me, deserved more than endurance. They deserved joy. They deserved justice. I am now a first-year law student, but I walk into each classroom with far more than academic ambition. I bring the stories of my community, of Black girls overlooked, of families underserved, of brilliance suppressed by systems that were not built for us. I study law not to assimilate into that system, but to challenge it. To interrogate it. To transform it. My commitment to justice is rooted in transformative justice values that teach me to envision a world beyond cages, beyond surveillance, beyond punishment. A world where community is not criminalized, where healing is prioritized, and where liberation is a daily practice, not just a theory. That belief led me to found Bronzed Confessions, a nonprofit dedicated to Black girls who are often seen as too loud, too angry, too much, but rarely seen as children in need of care. I provide scholarships, service projects, mental health resources, and career support that speak not just to their potential, but to their pain. I created this space because I needed it growing up, and because I know how transformative it can be when someone tells you, “You are not alone. You are worthy. You are powerful.” Beyond my nonprofit, I am also launching a tutoring program to address the literacy disparities facing Black youth in Baltimore. As someone who grew up knowing the power of words but not always having the tools to express them, I know literacy is liberation. To be able to read and write is to be able to resist. And every child deserves that chance. Still, my work is not just about the programs I lead, it is about the presence I bring. In spaces where empathy is seen as weakness, I choose it anyway. I have learned that leadership is not just about what you build, it is about how you make people feel. Seen. Heard. Believed in. The Michele L. Durant Scholarship would not just support my education, it would be an investment in a movement. It would allow me to continue building systems of care for communities while navigating law school with less of the financial pressure that often derails students like me. More than that, it would connect me to a legacy of leaders who dared to dream beyond the confines of convention, who, like Ms. Durant, knew that justice must live outside the walls of the courtroom and within the heartbeat of the community. I am not here because I followed a linear path. I am here because I refused to let my beginnings define my ending. I am here because I turned the weight I carried into a foundation strong enough to hold others. I am here, and I will not stop until we are all free.

Living the life of my dreams means waking up every day knowing that my work is creating meaningful change for marginalized communities, particularly for youth who have been overlooked or misunderstood. It looks like leading initiatives that ensure children in underserved neighborhoods have access to quality education, mentorship, and opportunities to thrive, free from the cycle of systemic inequalities. Additionally, it looks like giving them the resources to write their own story and not having people write their stories for them. Moreover, I want to create programs for those unhoused because, repeatedly, unhoused individuals and youth are often left to fend for themselves. As someone who grew up in an impoverished neighborhood, many teachers thought I would not make it past high school. I was just a statistic to them. But I refused to be defined by their expectations. I have successfully finished my first semester of law school and am providing mentorship to high school and college students. My journey is a testament to the transformative power of education and service. People often wrote my story for me, passing me off as a student not deserving of good things, but the people in my community took me in and raised me to be the headstrong, powerful young woman I am today. Their unwavering support is what has inspired me to continue my education so that I can also provide support for generations to come.  Furthermore, living the life of my dreams includes advocating fiercely for policies that prioritize youth justice and dismantle systems that criminalize them. The school-to-prison pipeline has impacted a lot of Black and Brown youth, and I see myself as part of a collective effort, running programs that uplift young people, giving them the resources and support they need to imagine futures beyond their circumstances. My dream life involves collaborating with grassroots organizations, connecting with families, and ensuring that marginalized communities have the tools to survive and truly live. As people, we have a duty to invest in the future of youth, not their failures. It is a responsibility that we all share and one that should motivate us to work together for a better future.  On a personal level, this life is also about balance and peace. As a first-generation Black law student from a low-income background, there were a lot of experiences I did not get to have because of financial barriers. I see myself traveling to learn from other cultures, nurturing my inner child, and finding joy in the little things while staying deeply connected to my purpose. It's a life where activism and service are not just careers—they're my legacy.

Maintaining a healthy lifestyle is crucial for me as a law student because it provides the foundation for balancing the demands of my academic journey. Law school is a mental challenge, and focusing on my health ensures I have the stamina to endure the rigors of school. When I prioritize physical activity, proper nutrition, and rest, I notice a significant improvement in my ability to concentrate, retain information, and manage my time effectively. At the beginning of my law school journey, I made a goal not to lose myself as law school went on. I ensured that all my hobbies and activities before law school could still exist. Although law school is challenging, I did not want my life to revolve around school and nothing else. I made sure I could fit in leisurely reading, journaling, calling friends and family, cooking, and exercising frequently. As a law student, there is this stigma around school being the only thing a person should focus on. While I agree that as a student, I have to stay committed, I also firmly believe that I cannot remain committed if I sacrifice things that make me happy. Being an excellent student is all about having balance. Having other outlets aside from school allowed me to flourish more healthily, giving me fulfillment. It's a reminder that balance is a luxury and a necessity in my academic life.  In addition, health also plays a key role in managing stress. The pressure to meet deadlines, prepare for cold calls, apply for summer jobs, and stay ahead of readings can feel overwhelming. In law school, you only have one big final that can make up your entire grade, so staying on top of my health allowed me to manage my stress and not put so much pressure on myself to the point where it could cause health issues. Regular exercise and mindfulness practices help me stay grounded to avoid burnout. Moreover, taking care of my body improves my mood and energy levels, making me more resilient when faced with setbacks or preparing for the scholarly rigor of finals. Maintaining a healthy lifestyle is more than just a means to academic success; it's a commitment to enhancing my overall well-being. It's a constant reminder that I am more than just a student—I am a person with needs and aspirations outside of law school. This self-care routine, which includes physical activity, proper nutrition, rest, and time for personal hobbies, brings balance to my life and equips me to thrive personally and professionally. Additionally, it is a testament to the importance of prioritizing our own needs, not just our academic or professional responsibilities.

1.) Imagine a leader who does not stand at the front, overpowering the voice of others, but instead walks alongside members of the community, ensuring every voice is heard and every need is met. That is the essence of servant leadership—an ideology that prioritizes uplifting others over personal gain. This approach isn't just a choice but a way of life deeply rooted in my identity as a first-generation Black woman, activist, and aspiring public interest attorney. As the eldest daughter in my family, I was naturally positioned to lead by example and support my siblings, often serving as a mediator and advocate for their needs. However, my approach to leadership has always been about understanding and uplifting others rather than imposing authority. I became a servant leader because, as a pre-teen, my family's income status exposed me to harsh adversities marginalized people face on a structural level. Seeing classmates having to choose between attending classes or dropping out so they could find jobs to help provide for their families was something I recognized should not be normalized. At just eleven years old, my first exposure to advocacy occurred when I spoke at a city hall meeting. Despite my age, I passionately conveyed my community's needs, leaving city officials impressed. Having the ability to verbalize my concerns affirmed my belief in addressing community needs. Further, my skills in servant leadership blossomed in 2020 when I found myself advocating for marginalized students on my undergraduate campus. The outcomes were transformative: a position for a Black therapist was established, an inclusive curriculum to reflect Black perspectives was implemented, and a yearly full-tuition scholarship program for 45 marginalized students was created. The support from students and alumni, was a testament to the power of collective action in bringing about meaningful change. Even in law school, I am drawn to opportunities to serve others. For example, I have volunteered with pre-law organizations to assist prospective students, by sharing LSAT resources and offering encouragement. My commitment to servant leadership is embedded in a deep understanding that collective success and empowerment are essential and the essence of community transformation. Servant leadership requires intention and action rooted in speaking with others and not for them. This principle underpins everything I do, whether advocating for a client in the future, standing in solidarity with community members, or mentoring someone who shares my aspirations. As I continue my journey toward being a public interest attorney, I am deeply committed to using servant leadership to dismantle systemic inequities. My law degree is not just for myself but for my community, and I will remain steadfast in creating spaces where all voices are valued and heard. 2.) Taking calculated risks is an area where I see room for significant growth. While I pride myself on being methodical and diligent, I sometimes hesitate when faced with opportunities that require stepping out of my comfort zone. This hesitation stems from my upbringing as a first-generation, low-income Black woman navigating systemic inequities. In a society where opportunities are not equally distributed, taking risks feels like a luxury I cannot afford. However, avoiding risks can lead to missed opportunities for personal growth and broader impact. One example of a missed opportunity occurred during my undergraduate years. I was offered the chance to be a North Carolina Agricultural and Technical University (NCAT) dean's scholar. Although I had the skills and support to succeed, I turned down the opportunity, fearing I might fall short and disappoint my community. I worried that moving away from home would mean losing the guidance I relied on. Reflecting on that decision, I now see my reluctance stemmed from self-doubt and a desire to stay within safe, familiar boundaries. Had I taken the opportunity, my education would have been free, and I could have experienced life beyond Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Despite this, I’ve grown in my ability to embrace calculated risks. Moving 13 hours away for law school was a pivotal moment for me. It required stepping into a new level of independence without the comfort of close friends or family. While my first semester was challenging, I discovered the beauty of building community in unexpected places like connecting with professors and peers. This experience reminded me that risks often open doors to growth and connection in ways we cannot always anticipate. Having mentors and peers who have also taken leaps has been transformative. Their stories of courage and resilience have inspired me to push past fear and embrace opportunities for growth. Calculated risks are not about certainty but about taking a chance to grow. I’ve learned that while you may not always know what an opportunity holds, taking the leap is better than denying yourself the chance to succeed. Often, the outcomes of these risks are not only unexpected but also deeply rewarding.

When I contemplate the transformative potential of a legal education, I am filled with awe and inspiration. My journey into the legal realm began at a young age, deeply influenced by the transformative work of grassroots organizers and movement lawyers in the community. The struggles my family faced, which often intersected with the legal system, and the resilience of our community, demonstrated through mutual aid and town hall meetings, left an indelible mark on me. The way our community came together, amplifying the needs of one another through mutual aid, was a powerful lesson in unity and determination. Such unity can address the inequalities permeating disadvantaged communities. This stark reality underscored the need for legal advocacy and criminal defense. At that moment, I realized my calling was a legal career, particularly in these areas. My passion for social justice and legal advocacy, ignited by these experiences, burns brightly. I am eager to develop my criminal defense, advocacy, and community outreach skills in law school. A legal education is essential because it will equip me with the necessary knowledge and provide me with a platform to address social justice issues at a systemic and institutional level. When introduced to the importance of activism and law and how they intersect, I dedicated my life to continuing the legacy that helped propel the success of Brown v Board of Education. This is why my legal education is essential, not just for my gain but also for the benefit of my community. Living in a community where there is a continuous cycle of incarceration, I have seen far too many peers and neighbors involved in legal trouble, many of whom are still awaiting counsel. These are not just statistics but faces I know and stories I've heard. With a legal education, I will be equipped to navigate the complexities of the legal system, counsel those in need, and advocate for fair and just outcomes for low-income people still awaiting trial. Looking to the future, I envision using my law education to establish mobile legal clinics across various states. These clinics will assist formerly incarcerated individuals in their journey to reintegrate into society. My role as a Pretrial Case Manager has given me a deep understanding of the challenges faced by incarcerated individuals, particularly in accessing resources due to their legal status. In a society where the disenfranchisement of marginalized people is all too common, I am resolute in my determination to contribute to help end this cycle of injustice. The need for change is urgent, and with this commitment, the future of the legal field can be one of positive change and societal progress.

In my community, having a disability is often spoken about in a negative regard, and it has been something I have let discourage me for a long time. Growing up, I struggled with functional depression and anxiety. During my high school years, I suffered immensely from anxiety and panic attacks. My depression and anxiety went undiagnosed for years, and I believe it is one of the factors why I did not do well in high school. While I wished I received a diagnosis earlier, my socioeconomic status unfortunately hindered my access to mental health and disability services. I struggled silently until last summer when I was financially stable enough to seek counseling independently. This financial stability was a significant turning point, as it allowed me to be officially diagnosed with Anxiety Disorder and depression in June 2023. Overcoming the economic barriers to seeking counseling was a testament to my resilience, a journey I hope will inspire others facing similar challenges. There have been moments in my life where I could not adequately describe how I felt, and people often took advantage of my lack of knowledge to downplay my emotions. Due to that, I did not have the most favorable outlets to talk about my experiences, and I often went into spaces, feeling like I did not belong because I did not fit people's typical standard of 'normal.' However, my journey took another turn when I found a place of security with Black Space, a nonprofit in Wisconsin that addresses mental health in the Black community. The impact of finding a supportive community like Black Space is profound. It provided me with the tools and knowledge to accurately describe how I felt, and it has shown me the crucial role such spaces play in mental health advocacy. The inclusive and supportive environment of Black Space has been instrumental in my mental health journey. Now that I am more in tune with my mental health, I incorporate ways to ease my mind. The different practices I have used are leisurely reading, pilates, walking, and taking cooking classes. I noticed that scheduling off a two-hour or more block per day to do something that genuinely brings me joy has improved my mental health. Now that I have the education to describe mental health and disability, I feel empowered to use my experiences to support future generations. As someone who wants to pursue a law education, I understand the crucial role of education in addressing disability needs and increasing representation in the legal profession. This knowledge will empower me to help improve disability representation in the legal profession for future generations. It has also strengthened my career aspirations of opening a mobile legal clinic to assist indigent clients with legal representation and the necessary resources to help them reintegrate into society, such as mental health services, housing, and employment support. As a Pretrial Case Manager, I have seen my clients struggle to find resources due to their cases. I am deeply committed to being part of a solution that helps end the disenfranchisement that occurs all too often. The Dwight "The Professor" Baldwin scholarship will allow me to focus on pouring into my future legal career of serving underrepresented groups through an intersectional lens without stressing over how I will pay for law school.

In my community, having a disability is often spoken about in a negative regard, and it has been something I have let discourage me for a long time. Growing up, I struggled with functional depression and anxiety. During my high school years, I suffered immensely from anxiety and panic attacks. My depression and anxiety went undiagnosed for years, and I believe it is one of the factors why I did not do well in high school. While I wished I received a diagnosis earlier, my socioeconomic status unfortunately hindered my access to mental health and disability services. I struggled silently until last summer when I was financially stable enough to seek counseling independently. In June 2023, I was officially diagnosed with Anxiety Disorder and depression. This diagnosis was a turning point in my life, marking the beginning of my journey towards self-acceptance and empowerment. Overcoming the financial barriers to seeking counseling was a testament to my resilience, a journey I hope will inspire others facing similar challenges. And while I have made great strides, I still have ways to go. There have been moments in my life where I could not adequately describe how I felt, and people often took advantage of my lack of knowledge to downplay my emotions. Due to that, I did not have the most favorable outlets to talk about my experiences, and I often went into spaces, feeling like I did not belong because I did not fit people's typical standard of 'normal.' However, my journey took another turn when I found a place of security with Black Space, a nonprofit in Wisconsin that addresses mental health in the Black community. The impact of finding a supportive community like Black Space is profound. With its inclusive and supportive environment, Black Space gave me the tools and knowledge to describe how I felt accurately, and it has shown me the crucial role such spaces play in mental health advocacy. Now that I am more in tune with my mental health, I incorporate ways to ease my mind. The different practices I have used are leisurely reading, pilates, walking, and taking cooking classes. I noticed that scheduling off a two-hour or more block per day to do something that genuinely brings me joy has improved my mental health, and I am committed to finding new ways to maintain my mental wellness. Now that I have the education to describe mental health and disability, I feel empowered to use my experiences to support future generations.

In my community, having a disability is often spoken about in a negative regard, and it has been something I have let discourage me for a long time. Growing up, I struggled with functional depression and anxiety. During my high school years, I suffered immensely from anxiety and panic attacks. My depression and anxiety went undiagnosed for years, and I believe it is one of the factors why I did not do well in high school. While I wished I received a diagnosis earlier, my socioeconomic status unfortunately hindered my access to mental health and disability services. I struggled silently until last summer when I was financially stable enough to seek counseling independently. In June 2023, I was officially diagnosed with Anxiety Disorder and depression. This diagnosis was a turning point in my life, marking the beginning of my journey towards self-acceptance and empowerment. Overcoming the financial barriers to seeking counseling was a testament to my resilience, a journey that I hope will inspire others facing similar challenges. And while I have made great strides, I still have ways to go. There have been moments in my life where I could not adequately describe how I felt, and people often took advantage of my lack of knowledge to downplay my emotions. Due to that, I did not have the most favorable outlets to talk about my experiences, and I often went into spaces, feeling like I did not belong because I did not fit people's typical standard of 'normal.' However, my journey took another turn when I found a place of security with Black Space, a nonprofit in Wisconsin that addresses mental health in the Black community. The impact of finding a supportive community like Black Space is profound. With its inclusive and supportive environment, Black Space gave me the tools and knowledge to describe how I felt accurately, and it has shown me the crucial role such spaces play in mental health advocacy. Now that I have the education to describe mental health and disability, I feel empowered to use my experiences to support future generations. As someone who wants to pursue a law education, I know having the education to address disability needs will provide me with the knowledge to ensure I can also help increase disability representation in the legal profession for the future generation. It has also strengthened my career aspirations of opening a mobile legal clinic to assist indigent clients with legal representation and the necessary resources to help them reintegrate into society, such as mental health services, housing, and employment support. As a Pretrial Case Manager, I have seen my clients struggle to find resources due to their cases. I am deeply committed to being part of a solution that helps end the disenfranchisement that occurs all too often. Furthermore, six months ago, I embarked on a journey to deepen my knowledge and advocacy on disability justice by enrolling in a virtual American Sign Language Course through the Oklahoma School for the Deaf. This course has significantly broadened my understanding of a unique culture and enhanced my appreciation for art, history, and the importance of effective communication. My experience as a student of the Oklahoma School for the Deaf has taught me valuable lessons in sensitivity, innovation, and analytical thinking, which I am eager to bring to my future legal career of serving underrepresented groups through an intersectional lens.

In my community, having a disability is often spoken about in a negative regard, and it has been something I have let discourage me for a long time. Growing up, I struggled with functional depression and anxiety. During my high school years, I suffered immensely from anxiety and panic attacks. My depression and anxiety went undiagnosed for years, and I believe it is one of the factors why I did not do well in high school. While I wished I received a diagnosis earlier, my socioeconomic status unfortunately hindered my access to mental health and disability services. I struggled silently until last summer when I was financially stable enough to seek counseling independently. In June 2023, I was officially diagnosed with Anxiety Disorder and depression. This diagnosis was a turning point in my life, marking the beginning of my journey towards self-acceptance and empowerment. Overcoming the financial barriers to seeking counseling was a testament to my resilience, a journey that I hope will inspire others facing similar challenges. And while I have made great strides, I still have ways to go. There have been moments in my life where I could not adequately describe how I felt, and people often took advantage of my lack of knowledge to downplay my emotions. Due to that, I did not have the most favorable outlets to talk about my experiences, and I often went into spaces, feeling like I did not belong because I did not fit people's typical standard of 'normal.' However, my journey took another turn when I found a place of security with Black Space, a nonprofit in Wisconsin that addresses mental health in the Black community. The impact of finding a supportive community like Black Space is profound. With its inclusive and supportive environment, Black Space gave me the tools and knowledge to describe how I felt accurately, and it has shown me the crucial role such spaces play in mental health advocacy. Now that I have the education to describe mental health and disability, I feel empowered to use my experiences to support future generations. As someone who wants to pursue a law education, I know having the education to address disability needs will provide me with the knowledge to ensure I can also help increase disability representation in the legal profession for the future generation. It has also strengthened my career aspirations of opening a mobile legal clinic to assist indigent clients with legal representation and the necessary resources to help them reintegrate into society, such as mental health services, housing, and employment support. As a Pretrial Case Manager, I have seen my clients struggle to find resources due to their cases. I am deeply committed to being part of a solution that helps end the disenfranchisement that occurs all too often. Furthermore, six months ago, I embarked on a journey to deepen my knowledge and advocacy on disability justice by enrolling in a virtual American Sign Language Course through the Oklahoma School for the Deaf. This course has significantly broadened my understanding of a unique culture and enhanced my appreciation for art, history, and the importance of effective communication. My experience as a student of the Oklahoma School for the Deaf has taught me valuable lessons in sensitivity, innovation, and analytical thinking, which I am eager to bring to my future legal career of serving underrepresented groups through an intersectional lens.

In my community, having a disability is often spoken about in a negative regard, and it has been something I have let discourage me for a long time. Growing up, I struggled with functional depression and anxiety. During my high school years, I suffered immensely from anxiety and panic attacks. My depression and anxiety went undiagnosed for years, and I believe it is one of the factors why I did not do well in high school. While I wished I received a diagnosis earlier, my socioeconomic status unfortunately hindered my access to mental health and disability services. I struggled silently until last summer when I was financially stable enough to seek counseling independently. In June 2023, I was officially diagnosed with Anxiety Disorder and Depression. This diagnosis was a turning point in my life, marking the beginning of my journey towards self-acceptance and empowerment. Overcoming the financial barriers to seek counseling was a testament to my resilience. And while I have made great strides, I still have ways to go. There have been moments in my life where I could not adequately describe how I felt, and people often took advantage of my lack of knowledge to downplay my emotions. Due to that, I did not have the most favorable outlets to talk about my experiences, and I often went into spaces, feeling like I did not belong because I did not fit people's typical standard of 'normal.' However, my journey took another turn when I found a place of security with Black Space, a nonprofit in Wisconsin that addresses mental health in the Black community. The impact of finding a supportive community like Black Space cannot be overstated. With its inclusive and supportive environment, Black Space provided me with the tools and knowledge to accurately describe how I felt. Now that I have the education to describe mental health and disability, I feel empowered to use my experiences to support future generations. As someone who wants to pursue a law education, I know having the education to address disability needs will provide me with the knowledge to ensure I can also help increase disability representation in the legal profession for the future generation. Furthermore, six months ago, I embarked on a journey to deepen my knowledge and advocacy on disability justice by enrolling in a virtual American Sign Language Course through the Oklahoma School for the Deaf. This course has significantly broadened my understanding of a unique culture and enhanced my appreciation for art, history, and the importance of effective communication. My experience as a student of the Oklahoma School for the Deaf has taught me valuable lessons in sensitivity, innovation, and analytical thinking, which I am eager to bring to my future legal career when serving underrepresented groups.

My journey into the legal realm began at a young age, deeply influenced by the transformative work of grassroots organizers and movement lawyers in the community. The struggles my family faced and the resilience of our community, demonstrated through mutual aid and town hall meetings, left an indelible mark on me. I recall my first town meeting at twelve, where I witnessed the frustration and distress of community members due to the lack of resources from government officials. This stark reality underscored the need for legal advocacy and criminal defense. At that moment, I realized my calling was a legal career, particularly in these areas. I am particularly interested in developing criminal defense, advocacy, and community outreach skills while in law school.  In August 2020, my activism took a significant turn. I remember the realization that I could not enter my sophomore year of undergraduate, feeling like I did not belong. I was living in fear that, once again, I would be in classrooms where people viewed me as a spokesperson for my race. Even though my former University had a rich history of Black leaders, there were no existing frameworks for Black students to thrive in the campus environment. This is why I spent the Summer of 2020 working alongside other Black leaders to compose a list of initiatives to make campus more inclusive. By channeling the legacy of Black activists and movement lawyers, I participated in a historical sit-in that established a position for a Black therapist, an inclusive curriculum to reflect Black perspectives, and a yearly full-tuition scholarship program for 45 marginalized students. These initiatives have significantly impacted the campus community, and I am proud of my role in making these changes. During the sit-in, I felt a profound sense of empowerment, knowing that my actions gave future students the framework they needed to succeed. This empowerment is a testament to the determination and commitment to social justice that I bring to my work.  Looking to the future, I envision using my law education to establish mobile legal clinics across various states. These clinics will assist formerly incarcerated individuals in their journey to reintegrate into society. My clinics will offer comprehensive programs addressing educational attainment, legal support, employment, transportation assistance, and housing. My role as a Pretrial Case Manager has given me a deep understanding of the challenges faced by incarcerated individuals, particularly in accessing resources due to their legal status. This experience has inspired me to use my legal education to provide the support that makes the journey less deterring. The insights I gained from my case manager work have strengthened my commitment to social justice and legal advocacy. In a society where the disenfranchisement of marginalized people is all too common, I am driven to be part of the solution to help end this cycle of injustice.

My journey into the legal realm began at a young age, deeply influenced by the transformative work of grassroots organizers and movement lawyers in the community. The struggles my family faced and the resilience of our community, demonstrated through mutual aid and town hall meetings, left an indelible mark on me. I recall my first town meeting at twelve, where I witnessed the frustration and distress of community members due to the lack of resources from government officials. This stark reality underscored the need for legal advocacy and criminal defense. At that moment, I realized my calling was a legal career, particularly in these areas. I am particularly interested in developing criminal defense, public service, advocacy, and community outreach skills while in law school.  In August 2020, my activism took a significant turn. I remember the realization that I could not enter my sophomore year of undergraduate, feeling like I did not belong. I was living in fear that, once again, I would be in classrooms where people viewed me as a spokesperson for my race. Even though my former University had a rich history of Black leaders, there were no existing frameworks for Black students to thrive in the campus environment. This is why I spent the Summer of 2020 working alongside other Black leaders to compose a list of initiatives to make campus more inclusive. By channeling the legacy of Black activists and movement lawyers, I participated in a historical sit-in that established a position for a Black therapist, an inclusive curriculum to reflect Black perspectives, and a yearly full-tuition scholarship program for 45 marginalized students. These initiatives have significantly impacted the campus community, and I am proud of my role in making these changes. During the sit-in, I felt a profound sense of empowerment, knowing that my actions gave future students the framework they needed to succeed. This empowerment is a testament to the determination and commitment to social justice that I bring to my work.  Looking to the future, I envision using my law education to establish mobile legal clinics across various states. These clinics will assist formerly incarcerated individuals in their journey to reintegrate into society. My clinics will offer comprehensive programs addressing educational attainment, legal support, employment, transportation assistance, and housing. My role as a Pretrial Case Manager has given me a deep understanding of the challenges faced by incarcerated individuals, particularly in accessing resources due to their legal status. This experience has inspired me to use my legal education to provide the support that makes the journey less deterring. The insights I gained from my case manager work have strengthened my commitment to social justice and legal advocacy. In a society where the disenfranchisement of marginalized people is all too common, I am driven to be part of the solution to help end this cycle of injustice.

In August 2020, the trajectory of my activism changed forever. I remember recognizing that I could not enter sophomore year, feeling like I did not belong and living in fear that, once again, I would be in classrooms where people viewed me as a spokesperson for my race. Even though Marquette had a rich history of Black leaders, there were no existing frameworks for Black students to thrive in the campus environment. Not having the framework needed for success is why I spent the summer working alongside other Black leaders to compose a list of initiatives to make the campus more inclusive. By channeling the legacy of Black activists, I participated in a sit-in that helped establish a position for a Black therapist, an inclusive curriculum to reflect Black perspectives and a yearly full-tuition scholarship program for 45 marginalized students. During the sit-in, I remember feeling proud, knowing that my actions gave future students the framework they needed to succeed.  Students, alumni, and thirty thousand people on Facebook Live supported the movement. My tenacity at the sit-in was essential when I became the first Black woman nominated and elected as the Executive Vice-President (EVP) of Marquette Student Government. I realized substantial change can be achieved through advocacy, having crafted initiatives that will continue to benefit the student body. Consequently, it also reinforced the harsh realities of activism, having received death threats after being elected. Unfortunately, adversity is something I had gotten accustomed to. When my family did not have the necessities of survival, I watched how my community came together to amplify the needs of one another through mutual aid. I discovered that unity is necessary to address inequalities that permeate disadvantaged communities. The willingness to advocate for one another was an embedded reminder that I come from a legacy of activists, which is why I feel compelled to stand against the oppression of marginalized groups.  My journey as a student activist has taught me that advocacy is a non-linear process. It is a journey marked by moments of transformation and vulnerability, but it is also a journey where our present choices can pave the way for a better future. This is the power of advocacy. It is this power that drives me to merge my passion for activism and law, envisioning a future where legal professionals and clients work together to drive movement-based litigation. A law degree will equip me with the knowledge and skills to stand alongside others in our collective pursuit of societal progress. After Law School, I hope to open a mobile legal clinic to assist indigent clients with legal representation and the necessary resources to help them reintegrate into society. This is a solution that can help end the disenfranchisement of justice-impacted individuals, a beacon of hope in the fight for justice.

Growing up, I truly believed that if my parents had worked harder, I would not have had to take care of four younger siblings at the age of nine. I thought that if my parents had better-paying jobs, we could afford the lavish lifestyles like my more affluent peers. Despite my young age, I started criticizing my parents and wondered why life was so hard. It was not until I learned how profound poverty was that I realized I could not place blame on my parents.  The disenfranchisement of low-income neighborhoods is a result of centuries of racism and oppression, making life harder for marginalized people. Instead of resenting my family for our low-income status, I learned the value of community support and mutual aid. I vividly remember my neighbors' endless support, from providing hot meals to those in need to picking up children from school when families lacked transportation. This experience taught me the meaning of the phrase, "It takes a village." For that reason, in December 2021, I founded Bronze Confessions. My nonprofit organization serves to guide first-generation Black girls. What started as a mentorship program slowly grew into an organization that also provides workshops on college preparation, resources for financial aid applications, and scholarships for Black girls seeking post-secondary education. I have successfully guided over sixty mentees through their college applications. It is one of my most significant accomplishments because I can help alleviate the burden of young girls seeking post-education. Youth should not have to suffer for wanting to further their education, and I am proud to have created an organization that supports them on their educational and professional journey. As a first-generation college student, I remember working four jobs to pay my tuition payment plan and books. In my community, it took a village to help me adapt to the college environment as a first-generation student. I want to pour back into future generations and invest in their success so they do not struggle like I did. Together, we are making a significant impact, and I am proud of what we have achieved.  Despite having success with my business, I had to put my business on hold in the Summer of 2023 to prepare for the LSAT; this journey was a significant turning point in my life. It was a journey that not only prepared me for the legal field but also deeply ingrained in me the value of perseverance and dedication. Studying for the LSAT was a rigorous process that tested my mental and emotional resilience. However, it also instilled in me a profound appreciation for the power of education to transform lives, which is at the core of Bronze Confessions' mission. I am thrilled to announce that I am now ready to refocus on my business and continue offering mentorship, workshops, and educational support to new mentees. Despite being a small business, it has significantly impacted the community. With my LSAT journey behind me, I am excited to reintroduce my business and continue making a difference. Though many students may stand alone in their education, I bring the ambition and dreams of my community to guide me through assisting other students in their endeavors. I want my community to understand that Bronze Confessions seeks to bring vibrant and inclusive frameworks in a society where belonging can be hard to find. I am deeply grateful for the support and inspiration I have received. This support has not only shaped my personal and professional journey, but also made me feel appreciated and valued, and I am committed to giving back and making a positive impact.

My journey into the legal realm began at a young age, deeply influenced by the transformative work of grassroots organizers and movement lawyers in the community. The struggles my family faced and the resilience of our community, demonstrated through mutual aid and town hall meetings, left an indelible mark on me. I recall my first town meeting at twelve, where I witnessed the frustration and distress of community members due to the lack of resources from government officials. This stark reality underscored the need for legal advocacy and criminal defense. At that moment, I realized my calling was a legal career, particularly in these areas. I am particularly interested in developing skills in criminal defense, public service, advocacy, and community outreach during my time in law school.  In August 2020, my activism took a significant turn. I remember the realization that I could not enter my sophomore year of undergraduate, feeling like I did not belong. I was living in fear that, once again, I would be in classrooms where people viewed me as a spokesperson for my race. Even though my former University had a rich history of Black leaders, there were no existing frameworks for Black students to thrive in the campus environment. This is why I spent the Summer of 2020 working alongside other Black leaders to compose a list of initiatives to make campus more inclusive. By channeling the legacy of Black activists and movement lawyers, I participated in a historical sit-in that established a position for a Black therapist, an inclusive curriculum to reflect Black perspectives, and a yearly full-tuition scholarship program for 45 marginalized students. These initiatives have had a significant impact on the campus community, and I am proud of the role I played in making these changes. During the sit-in, I felt a profound sense of empowerment, knowing that my actions gave future students the framework they needed to succeed. This empowerment is a testament to the determination and commitment to social justice that I bring to my work.  Looking to the future, I envision using my law education to establish mobile legal clinics across various states. These clinics will assist formerly incarcerated individuals in their journey to reintegrate into society. My clinics will offer comprehensive programs addressing educational attainment, legal support, employment, transportation assistance, and housing. My role as a Pretrial Case Manager has given me a deep understanding of the challenges faced by incarcerated individuals, particularly in accessing resources due to their legal status. This experience has inspired me to use my legal education to provide the support that makes the journey less deterring. The insights I have gained from my work as a case manager have only strengthened my commitment to social justice and legal advocacy. In a society where the disenfranchisement of marginalized people is all too common, I am driven to be part of the solution to help end this cycle of injustice.

My journey into the legal realm began at a young age, deeply influenced by the transformative work of grassroots organizers and movement lawyers in the community. The struggles my family faced and the resilience of our community, demonstrated through mutual aid and town hall meetings, left an indelible mark on me. I recall my first town meeting at twelve, where I witnessed the frustration and distress of community members due to the lack of resources from government officials. This stark reality underscored the need for legal advocacy and criminal defense. At that moment, I realized my calling was a legal career, particularly in these areas. I am particularly interested in developing skills in criminal defense, advocacy, and community outreach during my time in law school.  In August 2020, my activism took a significant turn. I remember the realization that I could not enter my sophomore year of undergraduate, feeling like I did not belong. I was living in fear that, once again, I would be in classrooms where people viewed me as a spokesperson for my race. Even though my former University had a rich history of Black leaders, there were no existing frameworks for Black students to thrive in the campus environment. This is why I spent the Summer of 2020 working alongside other Black leaders to compose a list of initiatives to make campus more inclusive. By channeling the legacy of Black activists and movement lawyers, I participated in a historical sit-in that established a position for a Black therapist, an inclusive curriculum to reflect Black perspectives, and a yearly full-tuition scholarship program for 45 marginalized students. These initiatives have had a significant impact on the campus community, and I am proud of the role I played in making these changes. During the sit-in, I felt a profound sense of empowerment, knowing that my actions gave future students the framework they needed to succeed. This empowerment is a testament to the determination and commitment to social justice that I bring to my work.  Looking to the future, I envision using my law education to establish mobile legal clinics across various states. These clinics will assist formerly incarcerated individuals in their journey to reintegrate into society. My clinics will offer comprehensive programs addressing educational attainment, legal support, employment, transportation assistance, and housing. My role as a Pretrial Case Manager has given me a deep understanding of the challenges faced by incarcerated individuals, particularly in accessing resources due to their legal status. This experience has inspired me to use my legal education to provide the support that makes the journey less deterring. The insights I have gained from my work as a case manager have only strengthened my commitment to social justice and legal advocacy. In a society where the disenfranchisement of marginalized people is all too common, I am driven to be part of the solution to help end this cycle of injustice.

Question 1: I have placed a deposit at the University of Illinois at Chicago (UIC) School of Law and Maryland Carey School of Law; however, I will be attending Maryland Carey School of Law for Fall 2024.  Question 2: My journey in the legal field is deeply rooted in my personal experiences and the knowledge I have gained from formal education. I pursue learning and intellectual growth outside of formal education by finding political homes within organizations that align with my values and areas of law in which I want to be. While education regarding social action is essential, putting that knowledge into practice is an opportunity to build on what I know and share the education with those in my community. An example of this is when I participated in a Summer Intensive Political Education and Legal training hosted by Law for Black Lives in June 2024. During the training, I was able to learn about issues of Black Queer Feminism, Anti-Capitalism, and Movement Lawyering. The knowledge I gained from formal education allowed me to have dialogue with my peers and develop new strategies to support organizers, incarcerated individuals, and community members so they can have the resources they need. This opportunity has shaped my legal aspirations because I am interested in criminal law, civil rights, and movement lawyering, and I will be working with people from different backgrounds. I need to be able to apply the issues of anti-capitalism, movement law, and black queer feminism to my advocacy.  Question 2 CONT: Moreover, earlier this year, I wanted to find ways to make my advocacy more inclusive, so I embarked on a journey to deepen my knowledge and advocacy on disability justice by enrolling in a virtual American Sign Language Course through the Oklahoma School for the Deaf. This course has broadened my understanding of a unique culture and enhanced my appreciation for art, history, and the importance of effective communication. My experience as a student of the Oklahoma School for the Deaf and Summer Intensive Training has taught me valuable lessons in sensitivity, innovation, analytical thinking, and viewing theories through different frameworks. These are skills and perspectives that I am eager to bring to the legal field, a field I am deeply committed to.  Question 3: In August 2020, I participated in a sit-in during my undergraduate career that established a position for a Black therapist, an inclusive curriculum to reflect Black perspectives, a food insecurity program, a mentorship pipeline program, and a yearly full-tuition scholarship program for 45 marginalized students. The impact of this sit-in was profound, as it not only benefited the current students but also paved the way for future generations. Many people saw the sit-in as an accomplishment because it would benefit future generations. Still, a few people thought there were other ways to get the initiatives we sought. I navigated the dilemma by realizing that the sit-in did not happen impulsively and that thirty thousand people on Facebook Live, alumni, students, and faculty, supported our movement. Experiencing the negativity has deepened my understanding that social justice and advocacy are not linear and that there are multiple, often complex, ways to achieve the goal of systemic and institutional change.  Question 4: If I could support one philanthropic initiative, it would be to create a mutual aid support center in low-income communities. As someone who grew up in a low-income neighborhood, I saw times when my family could not afford necessities, and I watched how my community came together to amplify the needs of one another through mutual aid. In my community, people would provide hot meals to those experiencing hard times and pick up children from school when families did not have transportation. It was by living in my old neighborhood that I started to understand the phrase, “It truly takes a village.” The willingness to advocate for one another was a reminder that communal support is essential and our voices are better together than separate to bring about change.