The smell of mulch, the laughter of children, those cold metal chains. Everything else fades as the cool wind touches my face, and tugs my shirt towards it. Those moments of weightlessness, the ones felt right before your feet touch the ground, are the only times where I felt the grasp of freedom that never extended its reach. Yet, I still love the swings because while there are many others that are forced to relinquish their youth and grow up as adults, I have experienced such moments— ones that aren’t given to many children that look like me; brown eyes, curly hair, black skin. As I mold myself into the young woman I am becoming today, I'm drawn to spaces of fairness and justice. I’ve watched people; people who look a lot like my brother, my mother, my father, my friends. And every time I look back, I see the impact of a system that was never built for us. Growing up in the Bronx, even at an early age, I saw how Black men and women were treated by systems created to support those who were fortunate enough to benefit than those who actually needed the help. The only interaction they got with the law was in the form of an arrest, a court summons, or a child support case. The only thing I knew about hospitals was that they were where people ended up after you heard the screeching sirens that echoed off every street corner. I don’t want the children in the communities I survived to feel as if their current situations prevent them from the opportunity to have big dreams. The younger version of me needed someone like me as a lawyer. The future version of me is going to need a lawyer. The kids in the communities I grew up in, they’re going to need me as a lawyer too. They too will need an expansion to the areas of healthcare they have such limited opportunities to and aid in closing that access gap. And who knows, maybe one day, one of those kids will become my doctor. There are so many others that don’t get the opportunity to further their education because they are stuck in a poverty-stricken loop preventing them from their pursuits.This is my commitment to their education and the reforming of policies. Through community based nonprofits and the creation of impactful initiatives, I hope to create solutions that are long lasting and sustainable in the focus of creating healthier and equitable programs for the futures of the youth. With the right support, I will further my education in law by pursuing a political science degree that bridges health, education and policy, while I strive to create communities that can depend on one another. Through my future efforts in advocacy, I will become the voice for the voiceless because the law should not only favor the voices of the powerful, it should, above all, protect the voices of the weak.

The smell of mulch, the laughter of children, those cold metal chains. Everything else fades as the cool wind touches my face, and tugs my shirt towards it. Those moments of weightlessness, the ones felt right before your feet touch the ground, are the only times where I felt the grasp of freedom that never extended its reach. Yet, I still love the swings because while there are many others that are forced to relinquish their youth and grow up as adults, I have experienced such moments— ones that aren’t given to many children that look like me; brown eyes, curly hair, black skin. As I mold myself into the young woman I am becoming today, I'm drawn to spaces of fairness and justice. I’ve watched people; people who look a lot like my brother, my mother, my father, my friends. And every time I look back, I see the impact of a system that was never built for us. Growing up in the Bronx, even at an early age, I saw how Black men and women were treated by systems created to support those who were fortunate enough to benefit than those who actually needed the help. The only interaction they got with the law was in the form of an arrest, a court summons, or a child support case. The only thing I knew about hospitals was that they were where people ended up after you heard the screeching sirens that echoed off every street corner. I don’t want the children in the communities I survived to feel as if their current situations prevent them from the opportunity to have big dreams. The younger version of me needed someone like me as a lawyer. The future version of me is going to need a lawyer. The kids in the communities I grew up in, they’re going to need me as a lawyer too. They too will need an expansion to the areas of healthcare they have such limited opportunities to and aid in closing that access gap. And who knows, maybe one day, one of those kids will become my doctor. There are so many others that don’t get the opportunity to further their education because they are stuck in a poverty-stricken loop preventing them from their pursuits.This is my commitment to their education and the reforming of policies. Through community based nonprofits and the creation of impactful initiatives, I hope to create solutions that are long lasting and sustainable in the focus of creating healthier and equitable programs for the futures of the youth. With the right support, I will further my education in law by pursuing a political science degree that bridges health, education and policy, while I strive to create communities that can depend on one another. Through my future efforts in advocacy, I will become the voice for the voiceless because the law should not only favor the voices of the powerful, it should, above all, protect the voices of the weak.

The smell of mulch, the laughter of children, those cold metal chains. Everything else fades as the cool wind touches my face, and tugs my shirt towards it. Those moments of weightlessness, the ones felt right before your feet touch the ground, are the only times where I felt the grasp of freedom that never extended its reach. Yet, I still love the swings because while there are many others that are forced to relinquish their youth and grow up as adults, I have experienced such moments— ones that aren’t given to many children that look like me; brown eyes, curly hair, black skin. As I mold myself into the young woman I am becoming today, I”m drawn to spaces of fairness and justice. I’ve watched people; people who look a lot like my brother, my mother, my father, my friends. And every time I look back, I see the impact of a system that was never built for us. Growing up in Allentown, even at an early age, I saw how Black men and women were treated by systems created to support those who were fortunate enough to benefit than those who actually needed the help. The only interaction they got with the law was in the form of an arrest, a court summons, or a child support case. The only thing I knew about hospitals was that they were where people ended up after you heard the screeching sirens that echoed off every street corner. I don’t want the children in the communities I survived to feel as if their current situations prevent them from the opportunity to have big dreams. The younger version of me needed someone like me as a lawyer. The future version of me is going to need a lawyer. The kids in the communities I grew up in, they’re going to need me as a lawyer too. They too will need an expansion to the areas of healthcare they have such limited opportunities to and aid in closing that access gap. And who knows, maybe one day, one of those kids will become my doctor. There are so many others that don’t get the opportunity to further their education because they are stuck in a poverty-stricken loop preventing them from their pursuits.This is my commitment to their education and the reforming of policies. Through community based nonprofits and the creation of impactful initiatives, I hope to create solutions that are long lasting and sustainable in the focus of creating healthier and equitable programs for the futures of the youth. With the right support, I will further my education in law by pursuing a political science degree that bridges health, education and policy, while I strive to create communities that can depend on one another. Through my future efforts in advocacy, I will become the voice for the voiceless because the law should not only favor the voices of the powerful, it should, above all, protect the voices of the weak.

The smell of mulch, the laughter of children, those cold metal chains. Everything else fades as the cool wind touches my face, and tugs my shirt towards it. Those moments of weightlessness, the ones felt right before your feet touch the ground, are the only times where I felt the grasp of freedom that never extended its reach. Yet, I still love the swings because while there are many others that are forced to relinquish their youth and grow up as adults, I have experienced such moments— ones that aren’t given to many children that look like me; brown eyes, curly hair, black skin. As I mold myself into the young woman I am becoming today, I”m drawn to spaces of fairness and justice. I’ve watched people; people who look a lot like my brother, my mother, my father, my friends. And every time I look back, I see the impact of a system that was never built for us. Growing up in the Bronx, even at an early age, I saw how Black men and women were treated by systems created to support those who were fortunate enough to benefit than those who actually needed the help. The only interaction they got with the law was in the form of an arrest, a court summons, or a child support case. The only thing I knew about hospitals was that they were where people ended up after you heard the screeching sirens that echoed off every street corner. I don’t want the children in the communities I survived to feel as if their current situations prevent them from the opportunity to have big dreams. Only 2% of African American females make it as lawyers. The younger version of me needed someone like me as a lawyer. The future version of me is going to need a lawyer. The kids in the communities I grew up in, they’re going to need me as a lawyer too. They too will need an expansion to the areas of healthcare they have such limited opportunities to and aid in closing that access gap. And who knows, maybe one day, one of those kids will become my doctor. There are so many others that don’t get the opportunity to further their education because they are stuck in a poverty-stricken loop preventing them from their pursuits.This is my commitment to their education and the reforming of policies. Through community based nonprofits and the creation of impactful initiatives, I hope to create solutions that are long lasting and sustainable in the focus of creating healthier and equitable programs for the futures of the youth. With the right support, I will further my education in law by pursuing a political science degree that bridges health, education and policy, while I strive to create communities that can depend on one another. Through my future efforts in advocacy, I will become the voice for the voiceless because the law should not only favor the voices of the powerful, it should, above all, protect the voices of the weak.

The smell of mulch, the laughter of children, those cold metal chains. Everything else fades as the cool wind touches my face and tugs my shirt towards it. Those moments of weightlessness, the ones felt right before your feet touch the ground, are the only times where I felt the grasp of freedom that never extended its reach. Yet, I still love the swings because while there are many others that are forced to relinquish their youth and grow up as adults, I have experienced such moments— ones that aren’t given to many children that look like me; brown eyes, curly hair, black skin. As I mold myself into the young woman I am becoming today, I'm drawn to spaces of fairness and justice. I’ve watched people; people who look a lot like my brother, my mother, my father, my friends. And every time I look back, I see the impact of a system that was never built for us. Growing up in the Bronx, even at an early age, I saw how Black men and women were treated by systems created to support those who were fortunate enough to benefit than those who actually needed the help. The only interaction they got with the law was in the form of an arrest, a court summons, or a child support case. The only thing I knew about hospitals was that they were where people ended up after you heard the screeching sirens that echoed off every street corner. I don’t want the children in the communities I survived to feel as if their current situations prevent them from the opportunity to have big dreams. The younger version of me needed someone like me as a lawyer. The future version of me is going to need a lawyer. The kids in the communities I grew up in, they’re going to need me as a lawyer too. They too will need an expansion to the areas of healthcare they have such limited opportunities to and aid in closing that access gap. And who knows, maybe one day, one of those kids will become my doctor. There are so many others that don’t get the opportunity to further their education because they are stuck in a poverty-stricken loop preventing them from their pursuits. This is my commitment to their education and the reforming of policies. Through community-based nonprofits and the creation of impactful initiatives, I hope to create solutions that are long lasting and sustainable in the focus of creating healthier and equitable programs for the futures of the youth. With the right support, I will further my education in law by pursuing a political science degree that bridges health, education and policy, while I strive to create communities that can depend on one another. Through my future efforts in advocacy, I will become the voice for the voiceless because the law should not only favor the voices of the powerful, it should, above all, protect the voices of the weak.

As I mold myself into the young woman I am becoming today, I’m drawn to spaces of fairness and justice. I’ve watched people, defendants in court, who look a lot like my brother, my mother, my father, my friends. And every time, I see the impact of a system that was never built for us. So many of the problems we face in this world are deeply systemic. Documents that were meant to structure the way our society is meant to function are left open to interpretation, and they become tools used to justify injustice. We see it in the unraveling of 60 years of civil rights protections and legislation. People are being hurt. Families are being torn apart. And systemic oppression is not only real, but it’s on the rise continuing to affect people’s everyday lives in ways that are concealed from the public. Growing up in the Bronx, even at an early age, I saw how Black men and women were treated by the legal system. The only interaction they got with the law was in the form of an arrest, a court summons, or a child support case. That’s all we knew. The younger version of me needed someone like me as a lawyer. The future version of me is going to need a lawyer. The kids in the communities I grew up in, they’re going to need me as a lawyer too. I want every person, no matter their circumstances, their environment, or their background, to know that I see them for who they truly are. To me, being a lawyer isn’t just about becoming an attorney, it's becoming the voice for the voiceless because the law should not only favor the voices of the powerful, it should, above all, protect the voices of the weak.

A symphony of chaotic laughter and chatter filled the room as my classmates hustled around one another, filling my ears with their buzzing energy. Chairs scraped against the tiled floors, backpacks thudded against the ground, and others chatted among themselves. Amidst the sound of chaos, I sat quietly at my desk, flipping through the pages of my book. While I was meant to be engrossed within this book, the only thought that came to me was a longing question. Why had God created me as a supporting character? My whole life was embodied by religion. Every Sunday morning at 10 am sharp, I would be woken up to the sound of gospel music that filled our house. Every Sunday afternoon, our family would go to church. The service always began with the choir singing hymns and songs where everyone would join in before our Pastor delivered the verse of the day. I always considered myself to be a good Christian. I sang in the youth choir, performed in our Church’s dance team, and would always say my prayers. Yet, I felt as if God had been lacking in my life. If I did all these things to worship him and praise him, why wasn’t he showing up in the ways I needed him to? Why was it that when I prayed to him to be more confident, to be louder, to be social that he failed to deliver my prayers? Every Sunday, I began to resent going to church. I rebelled by refusing to speak to God because why should I continue to speak to an entity who refuses to speak to me? During my rebellion, the bible that sat on my nightstand called to me and I felt compelled to pick it up. For a time, I stared at the cover before deciding to flip through the pages until I stopped on one page that had been bookmarked. 1 Corinthians 7:17 read “Let each one live his life in the situation the Lord assigned when God called him.” I realized that the place I was currently at is where God had intended me to be. That disappointment I felt came from a place of comparison. Seeing how others lived their lives made me doubt the place God intentionally put me in. In that moment, I understood that God had always been with me even in the ways I deemed as less significant. I was not a supporting character, rather God had been supporting me in every decision I made since that day. The small talks with my classmates, our laughs, and our group presentations were all God showing up for me when I thought he wasn’t. This year, I have joined my friends in creating our school’s first Bible Study club to bring students that were just like me closer to finding their faith. So many who had once believed that God no longer spoke to them now hear his voice every Monday after school. Being in a community of like-minded individuals and getting to lead the youth closer to the Lord has truly impacted our school youth. Next year, I am excited to bring my faith with me to Howard, to make others who felt like me realize that God is intentional. He will always guide you and he will never abandon you. He is never in a rush nor is he late. Rather, trust in his timing.

Every Friday after school, I rushed home from the bus stop to make it before 3 PM. It was the only time I could talk to my cousin, Junior, who lived in Ghana. There was never a dull moment in our conversations. We talked about our days, what we were learning in school, and how our families were doing. However, I soon realized that while my days were different, Junior’s routine was the same each week. My cousin didn’t have the same opportunities as me. He wasn’t as fortunate as I was and with each call, I began to realize the disparities within our lives. This realization reinforced my commitment to help. I began organizing monthly fundraisers at my church to send notebooks, pencils, and other school supplies as well as hygiene essentials to his village in Osino. We also managed to send new clothes and new and secondhand shoes. Each contribution, no matter how small, felt like I was truly making a difference. Our weekly conversations not only strengthened our bond but opened my eyes to the reality of the world. They taught me the importance of giving back to those less fortunate than me and supporting something greater than myself. I want to make a profound impact in our society. Throughout all sectors of life, the muted voices of democracy will be heard. By joining the two percent of female black American lawyers, I'll seize this opportunity so that one day, I can say I helped generate change.

Every Friday after school, I rushed home from the bus stop to make it to my house before 3 pm. Once home, I dropped my backpack and headed to my room, eagerly waiting for the call to connect. 3 pm was the only time I could talk to my cousin, Junior, who lived in Ghana. Our conversations were always lively. We would talk about our days, what we were learning in school, and how our friends and families were doing. Junior would describe his day, from waking up early to get his siblings ready and walk them to school, to coming home and washing his school clothes for the next day. I would share how my mom made breakfast for me before dropping me off at school. Despite our vastly different routines, Junior was always content. He would often tell me how much he appreciated our calls because it gave him a glimpse of life in America. Although we shared a bond, our worlds were worlds apart. Each Friday, I had something new to tell him. But as the weeks went on, I realized that Junior's schedule never changed. With every conversation, I became more aware of the disparities between our lives. It wasn’t until I began paying closer attention that I truly understood what she meant. I realized how much more privileged I was. I had things that Junior could only dream of; the resources, opportunities, and comforts that I often took for granted. This realization deepened my desire to help. I started organizing fundraisers at my church to send school supplies and hygiene essentials to Junior’s community. Each contribution, no matter how small, made me feel like I was making a real difference. Our weekly conversations not only brought us closer but opened my eyes to the world’s realities. They taught me the importance of giving back to those less fortunate and reinforced my belief in helping others. I soon realized that the difference between my life and Junior’s was the result of systemic policies. In the low-income areas where my family lived, policies limited access to education, healthcare, and resources, making it harder for people like my mother, who has a disability, to get the care she needed. In Ghana, the situation was no different. The government’s policies had failed Junior and his community. These policies, designed to create fairness, often ended up reinforcing inequality. I decided that if I studied political science, I could understand the root causes of these disparities. I wanted to learn how policies were created, how they affected communities, and how I could work to change them. By studying political science, I could address the societal issues that prevented my family and Junior from accessing the resources they needed. Through my education, I will work to create positive change. I will no longer wait for others to fix the problems that affect us; I will be the one to make an impact. I aspire to amplify the voices of those who have been silenced and fight for a society where everyone has equal opportunities. By pursuing a career in law, I aim to join the two percent of Black female lawyers in America and use my future to generate the change the world needs.

My life has never been my own. For as long as I can remember, it belonged to my older brother. As a child, I wasn't seen as an individual. I was simply "Carl’s little sister." I was just an extension of my brother. But growing up like that made me learn of the value of individuality and the power of advocacy. Even though my brother and I shared similarities and had many differences as people, the world didn’t see it that way. As I mold myself into the young woman I am becoming today, I am drawn to spaces of fairness and justice. I’ve watched people, defendants in court, who look a lot like my brother, my mother, my father, my friends. And every time, I see the impact of a system that was never built for us. So many of the problems we face in this world are deeply systemic. They’re built on constitutions, laws, and policy. Documents that were meant to structure the way our society is meant to function are left open to interpretation, and they become tools used to justify injustice. We see it in the overturning of Roe v. Wade and the unraveling of 60 years of civil rights protections and legislations. People are being hurt. Families are being torn apart. And systemic oppression is not only real, but it’s on the rise continuing to affect people’s everyday lives in ways that are concealed from the public. Growing up in the Bronx, even at an early age, I saw how Black men and women were treated by the legal system. The only interaction they got with the law was in the form of an arrest, a court summons, or a child support case. That’s all we knew. The younger version of me needed someone like me as a lawyer. The future version of me is going to need a lawyer. The kids in the communities I grew up in, they’re going to need me as a lawyer too. I want every person, no matter their circumstances, their environment, or their background, to know that I see them for who they truly are. To me, being a lawyer isn’t just about becoming an attorney. I want to be a voice for change. I will become the voice for the voiceless because the law should not only favor the voices of the powerful, it should, above all, protect the voices of the weak.

Every Friday after school, I would rush home from the bus stop to make it to my house before 3 pm. Once home, I dropped my backpack, grabbed a bag of chips from the kitchen cabinet, and headed to my room eagerly waiting for the call to connect. 3 pm was the only time I was able to talk to my cousin, Junior who lived in Ghana. There was never a dull moment within our conversations. We would talk about how our days went, what we were learning in school, and how our friends and families were doing. Junior would tell me all about his day from when he woke up early in the morning to get his siblings ready and walk them each to school to when he got home and had to wash his school clothes to get them ready for the next day. I would tell him about how my mother woke me up in the morning to make me breakfast before dropping me off at my school. Even though our days were always so different, Junior was always so content. He would always tell me how he appreciated me calling him each Friday because he got to hear about how life was in America. Even though we were both so full of life, our worlds were so different from each other. Each Friday, I would have a different thing to tell him, but I soon realized that each call, he would tell me the exact same schedule. My cousin didn’t have the same opportunities as me. He wasn’t as fortunate as I was and with each call, I began to realize the disparities within our lives. My mom would always tell me that though we may share the same blood, you and Junior are different. It wasn’t until I really started to pay attention where I realized I was much more privileged than him. I often took what I had for granted and reinforced my commitment to help. I began to organize fundraisers at my church to send his community school supplies and hygiene essentials. Each contribution no matter how small felt like I was truly making a difference in their community. Our weekly conversation not only strengthened our bond but opened my eyes to the reality of the world. It taught me how important it was to continue giving back to those not as fortunate as me. Our Tuesday conversations taught me the importance of giving back to something greater than myself. I then realized that the reason my cousin and I lived such different lives were because of the inconsistent policies that allowed us to experience different ways of living. In the low-income areas where my family and I lived, it was because there were policies in place that gave us limited access to those resources and limited access to education. It meant harder access to healthcare and Medicare for disabled people like my mother and others in the black community. In the poor unprivileged parts of Ghana where my cousin resided, it was because of the policies of the government that failed our family, causing him to live the way he did. Policies which were meant to keep things fair in many cases, were unequal. Before even beginning to tackle the problems of equity and justice, I realized if I studied political science, I could attack the policies from the root. I can learn how these regulations were created and how I can work to address the effect of these policies and the societal issues that followed which made it harder for us to live. Through the multiple interdisciplinary studies and my focus in political science, I can solve community issues across different demographics and sectors. Growing up in the Bronx, even at an early age, I saw how Black men and women were treated by the legal system. The only interaction they got with the law was in the form of an arrest, a court summons, or a child support case. That’s all we knew. The younger version of me needed someone like me as a lawyer. The future version of me is going to need a lawyer. The kids in the communities I grew up in, they’re going to need me as a lawyer too. I want every person, no matter their circumstances, their environment, or their background, to know that I see them for who they truly are. To me, being a lawyer isn’t just about becoming an attorney. I want to be a voice for change. I will become the voice for the voiceless because the law should not only favor the voices of the powerful, it should, above all, protect the voices of the weak. Through my education, I can make a profound impact in our society where unprivileged children will no longer have to fear a world that has been built against them. I will no longer wait for someone to come along and fix our messed-up society, rather I realized the only way to make an impact is to create it myself. I want to make sure the muted voices of democracy are heard. By joining the two percent of female black American lawyers, I will seize this opportunity so that one day, I can say I helped generate change.

Every Friday after school, I rushed home from the bus stop to make it to my house before 3 pm. Once home, I dropped my backpack and headed to my room, eagerly waiting for the call to connect. 3 pm was the only time I could talk to my cousin, Junior, who lived in Ghana. Our conversations were always lively. We would talk about our days, what we were learning in school, and how our friends and families were doing. Junior would describe his day, from waking up early to get his siblings ready and walk them to school, to coming home and washing his school clothes for the next day. I would share how my mom made breakfast for me before dropping me off at school. Despite our vastly different routines, Junior was always content. He would often tell me how much he appreciated our calls because it gave him a glimpse of life in America. Although we shared a bond, our worlds were worlds apart. Each Friday, I had something new to tell him. But as the weeks went on, I realized that Junior's schedule never changed. With every conversation, I became more aware of the disparities between our lives. It wasn’t until I began paying closer attention that I truly understood what she meant. I realized how much more privileged I was. I had things that Junior could only dream of; the resources, opportunities, and comforts that I often took for granted. This realization deepened my desire to help. I started organizing fundraisers at my church to send school supplies and hygiene essentials to Junior’s community. Each contribution, no matter how small, made me feel like I was making a real difference. Our weekly conversations not only brought us closer but opened my eyes to the world’s realities. They taught me the importance of giving back to those less fortunate and reinforced my belief in helping others. I soon realized that the difference between my life and Junior’s was the result of systemic policies. In the low-income areas where my family lived, policies limited access to education, healthcare, and resources, making it harder for people like my mother, who has a disability, to get the care she needed. In Ghana, the situation was no different. The government’s policies had failed Junior and his community. These policies, designed to create fairness, often ended up reinforcing inequality. Before even beginning to tackle the problems of equity and justice, I realized if I studied political science, I could attack the policies from the root. I can learn how these regulations were created and how I can work to address the effect of these policies and the societal issues that followed which made it harder for us to live. I can solve community issues across different demographics and sectors. It will instill in me the belief that I will become something larger than I already am and I will make a difference in a world where our society has been pitched against us. Through my education, I can make a profound impact in our society where unprivileged children will no longer have to fear a world that has been built against them. I will no longer wait for someone to come along and fix our messed-up society, rather I realized the only way to make an impact is to create it myself. I want to make sure the muted voices of democracy are heard. By joining the two percent of female black American lawyers, I will seize this opportunity so that one day, I can say I helped generate change.

Every Friday after school, I rushed home from the bus stop to make it to my house before 3 pm. Once home, I dropped my backpack and headed to my room, eagerly waiting for the call to connect. 3 pm was the only time I could talk to my cousin, Junior, who lived in Ghana. Our conversations were always lively. We would talk about our days, what we were learning in school, and how our friends and families were doing. Junior would describe his day, from waking up early to get his siblings ready and walk them to school, to coming home and washing his school clothes for the next day. I would share how my mom made breakfast for me before dropping me off at school. Despite our vastly different routines, Junior was always content. He would often tell me how much he appreciated our calls because it gave him a glimpse of life in America. Although we shared a bond, our worlds were worlds apart. Each Friday, I had something new to tell him. But as the weeks went on, I realized that Junior's schedule never changed. With every conversation, I became more aware of the disparities between our lives. It wasn’t until I began paying closer attention that I truly understood what she meant. I realized how much more privileged I was. I had things that Junior could only dream of; the resources, opportunities, and comforts that I often took for granted. This realization deepened my desire to help. I started organizing fundraisers at my church to send school supplies and hygiene essentials to Junior’s community. Each contribution, no matter how small, made me feel like I was making a real difference. Our weekly conversations not only brought us closer but opened my eyes to the world’s realities. They taught me the importance of giving back to those less fortunate and reinforced my belief in helping others. I soon realized that the difference between my life and Junior’s was the result of systemic policies. In the low-income areas where my family lived, policies limited access to education, healthcare, and resources, making it harder for people like my mother, who has a disability, to get the care she needed. In Ghana, the situation was no different. The government’s policies had failed Junior and his community. These policies, designed to create fairness, often ended up reinforcing inequality. Before even beginning to tackle the problems of equity and justice, I realized if I studied political science, I could attack the policies from the root. I can learn how these regulations were created and how I can work to address the effect of these policies and the societal issues that followed which made it harder for us to live. I can solve community issues across different demographics and sectors. It will instill in me the belief that I will become something larger than I already am and I will make a difference in a world where our society has been pitched against us. Through my education, I can make a profound impact in our society where unprivileged children will no longer have to fear a world that has been built against them. I will no longer wait for someone to come along and fix our messed-up society, rather I realized the only way to make an impact is to create it myself. I want to make sure the muted voices of democracy are heard. By joining the two percent of female black American lawyers, I will seize this opportunity so that one day, I can say I helped generate change.

My life has never been my own. For as long as I can remember, it belonged to my older brother. As a child, I wasn't seen as an individual. I was simply "Carl’s little sister." I was just an extension of my brother. But growing up like that made me learn of the value of individuality and the power of advocacy. Even though my brother and I shared similarities and had many differences as people, the world didn’t see it that way. As I mold myself into the young woman I am becoming today, I am drawn to spaces of fairness and justice. I’ve watched people, defendants in court, who look a lot like my brother, my mother, my father, my friends. And every time, I see the impact of a system that was never built for us. So many of the problems we face in this world are deeply systemic. They’re built on constitutions, laws, and policy. Documents that were meant to structure the way our society is meant to function are left open to interpretation, and they become tools used to justify injustice. We see it in the overturning of Roe v. Wade and the unraveling of 60 years of civil rights protections and legislations. People are being hurt. Families are being torn apart. And systemic oppression is not only real, but it’s on the rise continuing to affect people’s everyday lives in ways that are concealed from the public. Growing up in the Bronx, even at an early age, I saw how Black men and women were treated by the legal system. The only interaction they got with the law was in the form of an arrest, a court summons, or a child support case. That’s all we knew. The younger version of me needed someone like me as a lawyer. The future version of me is going to need a lawyer. The kids in the communities I grew up in, they’re going to need me as a lawyer too. I want every person, no matter their circumstances, their environment, or their background, to know that I see them for who they truly are. To me, being a lawyer isn’t just about becoming an attorney. I want to be a voice for change. I will become the voice for the voiceless because the law should not only favor the voices of the powerful, it should, above all, protect the voices of the weak.

After school at 3:00 pm, our everyday adventure began. The refreshing embrace of the autumn breeze swirled around us on our walk to the store. Our usual adventure consisted of walking to Wawa and grabbing a snack before heading home. Yet, this day was different. Our usual afternoon walk was interrupted by an unwelcome presence—a police officer standing at the corner, his gaze fixed on us like prey. In a moment our carefree laughter turned into fear as we were forced to sit on the curb near the police car. Our usual afternoon walk became a thing of the past. That once cool autumn breeze became a chilling reminder that our lives are and will always be skin deep. While our criminal justice system may be flawed, after that day I realized that real incrimination stretched far beyond the system. The reason me and my brother were detained that day was because of the inconsistent policies that allowed us to experience that injustice. In the low-income areas where my family and I lived, it was because there were policies in place that gave us limited access to those resources and limited access to education. It meant harder access to healthcare and Medicare for disabled people like my mother and others in the black community. Policies which were meant to keep things fair in many cases, were unequal. Before even beginning to tackle the problems of equity and justice, I realized if I studied political science, I could attack the policies from the root. I can learn how these regulations were created and how I can work to address the effect of these policies and the societal issues that followed which made it harder for us to live. Through the multiple interdisciplinary studies such as the Social Justice Certificate, I can deepen my knowledge of social justice. Through my studies in Business Administration, Economics, and Political Science, I can solve community issues across different demographics and sectors. It will instill in me the belief that I will become something larger than I already am and I will make a difference in a world where our society has been pitched against us. Through my education, I can make a profound impact in our society where black children will no longer have to fear a world that has been built against them. I will no longer wait for someone to come along and fix our messed-up society, rather I realized the only way to make an impact is to create it myself. If I can navigate through the law, I can understand the complex legal landscapes and risks that come with a business. It will help me understand the importance of finance, ethics, and corporate governance that I can continue when I become a finance attorney. There, I can help with a company's legal issues and financial dealings. I want to make sure the muted voices of democracy are heard. By joining the two percent of female black American lawyers, I will seize this opportunity so that one day, I can say I helped generate change.