When the economy of the Morongo Indian Reservation in California grew large enough to provide full-tuition college scholarships for descendants, I did what any reservation kid who is told she is “gifted” does: I went to college for the sole purpose of moving to a more exciting area. College was my chance to get out, to escape, to finally make it on my own. I wasn’t going to squander it.
During college, my mentor (a woman) and American Indian Student Association advisor was the first person to urge me to go to law school so I could give back to my own community. At the time, however, I had no interest in American Indian law. In fact, I never even had the desire to take an American Indian Studies course, though my university offered a minor in the field. I’m not entirely sure why I had no interest. I set aside her suggestion.
But time moves fast in college, and graduation came quickly—I graduated having no clue what I wanted to do. I found a few retail positions to support myself, but then I discovered a nonprofit drug- and alcohol-treatment center that was run primarily by Natives. As someone who has had friends and family members lose the battle to drug and alcohol addiction on my own reservation, I decided to contact the nonprofit about available positions.
I somehow got a job as an outreach coordinator. I finally had a job that I enjoyed and that I was naturally good at, working with other Natives; my personal experience helped. I excelled in my position and was often asked to take on additional duties because my supervisor knew I could handle a larger workload, including the most difficult tasks: homeless outreach, weekly presentations to recently paroled individuals and inmates at the county jail, and training new intake coordinators. I never said no to any task. But after two years, I eventually realized that no matter how many additional responsibilities I took on, the promises of raises and promotions were empty. This was particularly frustrating because I witnessed a number of male coworkers get promotions, along with constant praise, even though, IMHO, they did not do their jobs well. On top of that, management often viewed suggestions and new ideas from the women on staff as personal attacks. Like most women, I have been treated differently in various situations because of my gender. But this was the first time my gender was a hindrance to my professional success. And the fact that I experienced it while working with my community, the Native community, was disappointing because Native women often hold our community together.
Still, working at the nonprofit helped me see my purpose in life: to give back to my own community, to make it better, stronger. Realizing that I would likely never see a promotion at the nonprofit, I contemplated my next move. Another mentor (also a woman) helped me see that I could give so much back through the law, echoing my college advisor. And I wanted to be in a position of power, in a place where no one could overlook me ever again because of my gender. So, three years after graduating from college, I took the LSAT. Unfortunately, my brother passed away weeks before the exam and I didn’t score as high as I knew I could. I took the exam once more, refusing to give up or settle for a low score. The thing about loss is that sometimes you can find inner strength from it. Paired with the resentment born from the experiences I had at the nonprofit treatment center, I had the strength I needed to persevere. Needless to say, I did well on the exam and decided to attend Lewis & Clark Law School because of its prestigious Indian law program.
THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME MY GENDER WAS A HINDRANCE TO MY PROFESSIONAL SUCCESS. AND THE FACT THAT I EXPERIENCED IT WHILE WORKING WITH MY COMMUNITY, THE NATIVE COMMUNITY, WAS DISAPPOINTING BECAUSE NATIVE WOMEN OFTEN HOLD OUR COMMUNITY TOGETHER.
I'VE LEARNED TO CHANNEL THOSE STRUGGLES INTO POWER.
Being an (almost) attorney, I can say without doubt that working women face many struggles daily. In my budding law career, my struggles might not be as blatant as the ones I faced while working at the nonprofit, but they exist nonetheless: Worrying about whether you’re smiling too much, if your voice is too high, or whether the neckline of your blouse is too low. But I’ve learned to channel those struggles into power.
I graduated from law school in May 2016 and am working at an amazing Indian law firm in the Bay Area as a law fellow. I am fortunate to be working in the same field that brought me to law school.
My next hurdle is the California Bar exam. It’s knocked me down a couple of times, but I am persistent and will not give up until I’ve conquered that beast. I went to law school to give back to my community, and I will overcome this one last obstacle in order to give back as much as I can. I’m honored to serve my community and grateful that I can use my education to help others. And although there are times when being a girl creates certain obstacles for us, it also creates opportunities to better ourselves and surpass the arbitrary limits we’ve set.