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My Success Has Never Been My Own
-- By AjeeRobinson - 23 Apr 2024 | |
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< | During my senior year of undergrad, the Sociology department hosted a farewell celebration for graduating seniors. While at the reception, one of my former professors, a white woman, congratulated me on an award I received and asked about my summer plans before starting law school that Fall. I excitedly shared with her that I was accepted into the SEO Law Fellowship Program, and as a fellow, I would spend my summer at a Big Law firm in D.C. Suddenly, her smile positioned downward, and a look of sheer disappointment covered her face. “Oh no—you didn’t want to do something else?” Without realizing I had started speaking, I nervously began explaining myself as if I were on trial, detailing how I had devoted all of my involvements to public interest work up until that point, including spending the majority of my time during undergrad working on a case that resulted in the subsequent exoneration of a wrongfully convicted woman in Philadelphia. I then awkwardly explained my financial situation, detailing how the money earned that summer would help me move to one of the most expensive cities in the U.S.—a significant help for my family, which consists solely of me and my single mom. Finally, in a final failed attempt to earn her approval, I downplayed my excitement for the opportunity. She responded with, “Well, I guess that’s okay. Just make sure you don’t stick to that.” A few days later, I told a trusted professor, a white man, about the encounter. Without hesitation, he looked at me with a sure expression as he stated with conviction, “Ajée, you are allowed to make money.” When I returned to my dorm room, I called my mom and completely broke down, pretending that I didn’t know why I was so profoundly affected by my professor’s affirmation—truthfully, I knew why. | >
> | At the end of my senior year, the Sociology department hosted a celebration for graduating seniors. While at the reception, one of my professors, a white woman, congratulated me and asked about my summer plans before starting law school. I excitedly shared with her that I was accepted into the SEO Law Fellowship Program and would spend my summer at a Biglaw firm in D.C. Suddenly, a look of disappointment covered her face as she asked why I hadn’t considered doing something else. I nervously began explaining myself as if I were on trial, detailing how, up until that point, I devoted all of my involvements to public interest work, including devoting most of my undergraduate extracurricular time to working on the case of a wrongfully convicted woman in Philadelphia. I then awkwardly explained my financial situation, detailing how the money earned that summer would help me move to one of the most expensive cities in the U.S.—a significant help for me and my single mom. Finally, in my last failed attempt to earn her approval, I downplayed my excitement for the opportunity. She responded with, “Well, I guess that’s okay. Just make sure you don’t stick to that.” A few days later, I told a trusted professor, a white man, about the encounter. Without hesitation, he looked at me and stated with conviction, “Ajée, you are allowed to make money.” When I returned to my room, I called my mom and completely broke down. I pretended that I didn’t know why I was so profoundly affected by my professor’s affirmation—but truthfully, I knew why. | | | My success has never been my own. | |
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< | I’ve never had the right, privilege, or freedom to own my own success, define it as I see fit, or ask myself what I want to do or how I want to show up professionally (or not). Whether in public interest, private sector, or any professional endeavor, white people have consistently enforced problematic and frankly stereotypical notions of what’s “acceptable” for my professional life, hopes, dreams, and aspirations as a Black woman and other Black women alike. | >
> | I’ve never had the right, privilege, or freedom to own my success, define it as I see fit, or ask myself what I want to do or how I want to show up professionally (or not). Whether public interest, private sector, or any professional endeavor, I’ve always been told what’s “acceptable” for my professional life and my hopes, dreams, and aspirations as a Black woman. I was so emotional from my professor’s reassurance that I was allowed to make money without feeling misplaced guilt because up until that moment, I never had a white person, much less a white man, allow me, as a Black woman, the possibility or even dream of a life absolved of struggle. Yet, irrespective of opinions, outside noise, and even my professor’s positive reassurance, my journey here has not been that simple. | | | | |
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< | I quickly realized that I was so emotional from my professor’s reassurance that I was allowed to make money without misplaced guilt because up until that moment, I had never had a white person, much less a white man, allow me, as a Black woman, the possibility or even the dream of a life absolved of struggle. My white male professor correctly recognized the hypocrisy in a white woman (who also conveniently happened to be a tenured professor at a prestigious private university) telling me (a Black woman who grew up struggling in Baltimore working harder than everyone else in the room to get a fraction of the benefits because of my Black womanhood) that my efforts to equal the financial and generational playing field for my family to align with that of her white family was somehow “not good enough” or a “waste” of my potential. This moment spoke to a much larger issue that, irrespective of what career path a Black woman pursues, there continues to be this overwhelming need for white people to “humble” her, “encourage” her to focus her career on what they consider “good work,” or hold her to standards and expectations that they have the privilege of disregarding and disobeying. Meanwhile, those very white people continue to be overwhelmingly represented and hold insurmountable power and authority in the very positions and roles that they conveniently tell Black women not to pursue. | >
> | In the spirit of reclaiming my success, I haven’t been entirely truthful with myself. Although it’s a harsh reality to acknowledge, I guess I’ve never truly considered or even cared about my own happiness. Or maybe I’ve always equated my happiness with my ability to make those I love happy. Or both. | | | | |
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< | However, unlike most white people who think they mean well or that they are simply giving voice to those in society with the most significant legal need, they almost always fail to realize that, irrespective of career path, Black women continue to professionally operate as a cog in a seemingly unfixable machine, regardless of who the machine benefits. In short, to be a Black woman in a professional space is to be in a constant state of racialized oppression and gendered violence, whether that looks like closing a billion-dollar deal or advocating for the exoneration of someone wrongfully convicted. This notion that Black women’s talents are best served in a career of empowering the powerless when they remain among the powerless themselves is inherently racist and sexist. To insinuate that Black women will somehow find their life’s purpose by devoting their professional lives to giving back to the very communities where they continue to be the primary targets of racialized and gendered abuse erases the continued lived experiences of Black women in these spaces, who face this violence in all professional roles. | >
> | Growing up, things weren’t always easy. Although my mom worked tirelessly to ensure I had a worthwhile childhood, I always saw the sadness in her eyes and the immense sacrifice it took for her to get me into spaces of access and opportunity. Yet, the one thing that always made her happy was seeing me do well in school. So, from a young age, I equated happiness with academic and professional success, and not only did this work for my mom—it worked for my entire community. My Black mom, my Black family, and my Black Baltimore community were all lifted up by my singular successes, and at as early as six years old, I knew they all looked to me as the one who had to “make it.” So, I became fixated on doing just that—making it—and to me, it meant a prestigious job with lots of money and power. Fast forward to law school, I realized my young definition of success could easily be achieved through a career in Biglaw. As such, I went to the highest-ranked school that accepted me, promised myself that I would master this law school thing and become a Biglaw attorney, and argued with my professor for nearly the entire semester in a failed attempt to prove to myself that I was right and that my happiness would be met in such a career. | | | | |
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< | So then, what is the pathway forward for Black professional women? First, one concept must be recognized for professional progress—expecting an oppressed people to be at the forefront of the fight to end their own oppression is nonsensical. Expecting Black women, the group who experiences the most violence from the criminal legal system, arguably falling second to that of Black men, to be leaders in fundamentally changing said system is rooted in white supremacy. Furthermore, to do so while ignoring the fact that the business of Big Law continues to be overwhelmingly white and male and operates for the sole benefit and advancement of white people and white men furthers the issue. As such, rather than attempt to push people to commit to a particular legal pathway, those doing so should instead consider why black and brown people continue to choose Big Law despite its “horrors.” The truth is, if Black women are going to face racialized and gendered obstacles in the workplace, irrespective of the role or sector, and these issues continue to go unconfronted by those who should be significant catalysts for change, that is, white people, then why should Black women be dissuaded from making money while also building generational wealth and financial security for their oppressed people while facing these obstacles? Next, there needs to be more intentionality to encourage white people, especially white men, to devote their careers to doing work on behalf of those most oppressed within our legal system. Truthfully, marginalized communities have always been at the forefront of their own liberation and legal activism, which remains true today. So, the issue is not that there are not enough people devoted to fundamentally changing our legal system. Instead, there are not enough people who hold privilege doing this work. Finally, white people must recognize the inherent protest within Black existence. The simple act of taking up space in any predominantly white professional space is resistance in itself, irrespective of the work or service being provided in that space. Therefore, Black women having a seat at academic and professional tables deserves recognition because this seemingly simple endeavor takes much more strength and courage than white people could ever imagine or have. | >
> | Now, I realize that reclaiming my success was never about choice, career freedom, or even creativity—instead, it has always been about safety. In a world where I already feel so unsafe because of my identity as a Black woman, this path seems like the safest and only choice that makes sense in what has already been such a difficult struggle to get here. My defensiveness about my future is less about the “system” and more about my personal frustrations with my lack of agency. No matter how much someone tells me to live my wildest legal dreams, I can’t—or maybe I’m just scared to. I’m scared that society, systems, niceties, respectability politics, racism, sexism, and anything else in between me and my wildest dreams and deepest passions have permanently dimmed the light of the little Black girl who was once so fearless. I’m scared I will fail, and my failure will only add to the generations of Black women who have poured into me, hoping that I will be the exception to their own failures. I’m scared to fall because I know I don’t have a plan B to catch me and pick up the pieces like so many of my white peers have. And finally, I’m scared to see what pursuing my passions would look like because I’ve lied to myself and mastered this game for so long that I honestly don’t know who I am without it. Yet, although I walk in my fear alone, I find comfort in knowing that I am joined by so many other Black women who, too, are trying to find their own little piece of happiness in this world, and together, I know we will. | | | | |
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< | In the spirit of reclaiming my own success, after law school, my professional pathway points to Big Law. But to reduce this choice to simply “making a lot of money” would diminish my why. I am not ignorant to the objective realities of Big Law...who I will work for, who benefits from my labor, and everything else in between. However, I also understand the importance of using Big Law as a means to endless resources that will help me achieve an impactful end. Throughout my entire life, my identity as a Black woman has meant enduring uncomfortable, distressing, and even oppressive environments with an understanding that these experiences will build upon one another to allow me to achieve my ultimate professional end—with no worries, politics, or apologies. Here, the circumstances are no different. I will smile, I will “obey,” and I will play the game that I have had to play hundreds of times in my life—the same game I played to get into a law school like Columbia. And just as I did then, I will play it well now. So, of course, I can provide empty generic answers about what I hope to get out of being at a Big Law firm—how my past experiences in legal advocacy have influenced my passion to practice litigation, how I want to work in a “collegial” fast-paced environment, learning from the best and brightest attorneys that every T14 law school has produced, how I want a clientele of this nation’s most elite companies, brands, and go-getters—and I can make it sound really good. But ultimately, what I naively claim to want out of my early career as a young, fancy bigshot lawyer is immaterial to my genuine professional pathway, intellectual needs, and even personal moral beliefs because, again, my early career choice is nothing more than a means to an end. Instead, starting my career at a prestigious law firm will give me access to the options I didn’t have while trying to get here. It will open unimaginable doors for me to, sooner rather than later, have the financial foundation to return to AND provide for the people, places, passions, and work I care deeply about, and that I know Big Law and loads of cash will never be able to fulfill. Someone once told me, “In addition to attending to your dreams, you must also attend to your realities.” Every day when I walk into Columbia Law School, and the day when I will soon walk into the doors of some white-shoe firm, I choose to endure unfavorable yet worthwhile professional realities that will allow me to not only achieve, but maximize the reach and impact of, even my wildest dreams.
My success has never been my own—now I choose to reclaim it for myself.
NOTE: I understand this draft is WAYYY beyond the word limit. But, it has always been easier for me to write freely and then better conceptualize/condense my thoughts. I would love some guidance on where you think I could leave out a concept/point to shorten the paper.
Also, I understand we often disagreed during class specifically around legal career choices and paths. I heard and understood every point you made and actually agreed with many of your comments. But my hope is that when you talk about legal careers or Big Law in the future, before speaking, you think about me or my paper and remember that for so many of us students, it is already hard enough being us within these spaces. It's even harder when you know you have the weight of your community, culture, and family on your back and everything is riding on you "making it," particularly as a minority. None of us make choices in a vacuum and options that you maybe have had the privilege to make throughout your career are not the same for many, even Columbia law students. So, I hope you can be more inclusive and recognize the role of privilege and access when sharing your opinion about students pursuing careers at firms. Because there are so many of us here that have to be so much for so many people, that we often are denied the freedom to ask ourselves what we want to do. Thank you for a great semester!
The way to cut the piece is to decide exactly what you want to say, pack it carefully in a sentence, use that sentence to start the next draft, then spend the rest of the draft unpacking it again.
"I can't afford to think about what I want because I have to be so much for so many people," might be the sentence of this draft, but I'm not sure it's the one you actually want. The question is sharpened by it, however, because it focuses attention on the implicit premise that there is a conflict. One could either then devote oneself to elucidating the reasons for the conflict, or to questioning the premise. The present draft is mostly in the first vein; proceeding in that direction would require marshalling the elements more tersely, but they are mostly here. The second would involve a more direct engagement with what I have actually been teaching. I don't think there's a conflict, because I think that becoming a great lawyer according to your own definition will satisfy the other demands on you as well. Of course money matters, but enough is a number, and once you have established it whatever practice produces it will satisfy the needs that descend from material constraints. Status and credibility too matter, and it's true that all such concerns are relative, and those to whom they are more likely to be reflexively denied must seek them more assiduously for that reason.
But the importance of taking a creative posture with respect to one's own practice and life neither increases nor decreases depending on one's origin or time of life. Using years as means rather than ends raises questions that deserve scrutiny, by you, for you.
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> | My success has never been my own—one day, I hope I’m brave enough to reclaim it for myself. | | |
You are entitled to restrict access to your paper if you want to. But we all derive immense benefit from reading one another's work, and I hope you won't feel the need unless the subject matter is personal and its disclosure would be harmful or undesirable. |
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