Wealth Divide on the Way to Law School

-- By RubiRodriguez - 12 Mar 2022

Introduction

On a Friday evening, a couple of friends and I sit at a table in an East Harlem restaurant, discussing our difficult upbringings shaped by poverty and inter-generational trauma and the fervent desire to overcome these obstacles. All three of us reflect on the feelings of winning the golden ticket when we were finally accepted into the Ivy League, something we previously only achieved in our wildest dreams. This was the solution to all of our problems, the key to finally being afforded freedom and to no longer remain in the survival mode with which we grew up. But in earning acceptance into a prestigious institution like Columbia Law School, it is as if we were inducted into a new world and reality that only few are lucky to enter and experience. Suddenly, we feel torn.

Morning Commute

Every morning on my walk to Property class, I pass by several Latina, immigrant mothers scurrying with their children to get them to school on time. The children hurriedly walking in their mix-matched clothing brings back memories of all the secondhand and donated garments my mother would make me and my siblings wear, often coordinated into tacky outfits.

When I turn the corner onto Amsterdam Avenue, I walk past P.A.'L.A.N.T.E., a community-based nonprofit that helps low-income families in Harlem. It reminds me of the faith-based organization that provided my family with food after my dad, the breadwinner, was jobless for over a year following the Great Recession, which sunk us deeper into our scarcity mentality.

I see several other parallels between the way of life for some Harlem residents and that of my working-class, immigrant family in Atlanta. But the Columbia Law School-branded backpack that I carry renders me a gentrifier and a stranger to the realities of many of the families I see on my daily walking commute. Crossing 125th Street, the housing projects face and juxtapose the restaurants frequented by Columbia students, and young people in well-curated, preppy outfits are more visible as I enter the bubble of the ivory tower.

Welcome to Law School

Walking through the doors of Columbia Law School, I mentally prepare myself for another day of information overload. While I would rather spend my time getting to know my classmates outside of student-mode, we are limited to observing each other’s behavior in a lecture hall. Students are encouraged, even if temporarily, to set aside their passions, beliefs, and values to conform to the standard of the “ideal” law student. This is the process by which law school allegedly breaks you down to build you back up. But this model of training, usually associated with military boot camp, is simply a way to justify hazing; and every year, well-intentioned aspiring lawyers legitimize the process.

The biggest disappointment in law school is having been told to come because historically excluded students bring valuable knowledge to class discussions; but once inside, you are told to not threaten the status quo and to stop taking the law so personally. Ironically, those are the reasons why many of us came to law school in the first place. For students of historically excluded backgrounds, learning the law can be intellectually violent, which underscores how stifling traditional legal pedagogy can be.

Is this the golden ticket?

Following the culture shock of entering a new academic environment with bizarre social norms, my purpose for coming to law school remains unchanged. I always understood the law as a tool largely for upholding injustice, and this is affirmed through the materials we have been learning from in law school. Despite the disappointments I have felt during my first year of law school, I look forward to being back in the halls of Columbia Law School this fall, finally engaging in classwork I find fulfilling because I hate injustice. The network, reputation, and experiential learning I have yet to fully take advantage of makes all the bullshit worthwhile.

The antidote to the effects resulting from the shortcomings of traditional legal pedagogy is to adjust my perspective on the importance of law school relative to the rest of my life. My greatest task for these three years is to focus is on my chosen duty of using my privilege to help families going through similar or worse adversity as that experienced by my family. I am reminded of this every morning, when I witness the obvious signs of income inequality between the two neighborhoods through which I travel. Whenever I see working class, immigrant families around Harlem, I know they do not perceive me as part of their community. But it is beautiful that by the mere switch of a language, I can convey my shared sense of solidarity, which is always understood through simple dialogue in a shared mother tongue. The resources I aim to leave with upon graduation are tools I will use methodically to equip these communities with self-advocacy strategies, like fuel slowly morphing into power to escape from the shadows of wealth to which they have been relegated.

Conclusion

The life I have managed to obtain since leaving Atlanta, a city notorious for being among the worst for upward economic mobility, has depended a lot on luck. But I know firsthand that, to survive, some families must sacrifice their emotional, psychological, and physical well-being while accepting low wages in the hopes of obtaining a lifestyle that many Americans, even those like me in fancy law schools, take for granted. And I understand the fervent desire to pursue prosperity, even when oppressive laws and policies stand in the way. Because of my family’s lived experience, as a law student and lawyer, I vow to defend the dignity of low-income and immigrant families, with the goal of uplifting and inspiring these communities to continue pursuing the life they deserve.

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