Two days ago, I was party to the type of blind ambition and
dedication of a group of minority students (on the basis of ethnicity and
gender) that is oftentimes glossed over in conversation. I was lucky enough to
be part of a caravan of students who were putting their notion of fairness and
justice above all. With very little notice, these students and I decided that
the Fisher v. University of Texas case would not be a case that we heard about
through media outlets with an agenda, media outlets that promote the very sensational
and pay-per-click, heavy, end-of-the-world spin. Nor would the Fisher v. University
of Texas case be one that we reviewed transcripts or case briefings about. We
decided that the Fisher v. University of Texas case would be the one that, win
or lose, we witnessed first-hand. Like so many of the other minority students,
well wishers and stakeholders who rallied at the Supreme Court yesterday, we
saw the Fisher case as potentially life altering for those who yearn to see an
America that actually conforms to the ideals of equal opportunity and freedom
it routinely espouses. So, armed with
determination, pillows, a few blankets, and sheer determination, we made the
eight-hour drive from Boston to DC (really nine hours, if you add the hour from
DC to our final destination in Virginia). Upon arrival, we were met with the
hospitality of a classmate’s parent and the allure of warm beds as a cure to road
trip-induced exhaustion. The original plan was to wake up at 6am, get in line,
and roll the dice to see if we could get in. However, this was not to be. After
several conversations with our local DC friends, it became abundantly clear
that, if we wanted to see the oral arguments, we would have to camp out as
early at 10pm that night, less than two hours after we arrived. Of course this
was news to my friend and her father who spent the day preparing and grilling a
delicious meal for us, and thinking through the logistics of housing up to
twelve visitors. Once we explained our thoughts behind the plan, our friend and
her father also became convinced that there was little choice but to camp out,
so we did. We drove an additional hour back into DC, parked our gigantic,
rented van in Union Station, and sought to stake our claim for a piece of
history. Lucky for us, our spots in line made us roughly slots 30 – 37 of a
potentially available 50 (none guaranteed seating, as we would find out later).
Through a cold and sometimes rainy night, we slept on cots of concrete
sidewalk, with only a thin blanket for comfort. When things got really
uncomfortable, some of us would head to Union Station for warmer sleeping,
changing of clothes, or restroom breaks. This lasted from 10:00pm to 6:00am. At
6:00 am, delighted and satisfied that we would all make it in, three of my
friends went to change from sweats into professional attire they believed more
fitting for the Supreme Court. Less than five minutes after they left, we (the
entire group waiting, now hundreds of people) were directed by the cops to move
to a new destination. At this new destination we were given the rules for
entry, and to our horror, we were actually handed the coveted purple passes,
with three less than our group needed. When we attempted to plead to the
officer for our friends who had just left, we were met with the cold chill of
professional indifference, even as we watched at least one person who had not
camped out at all receive a pass by cutting everyone in line during the chaotic
transition to the new location. Less
than two minutes later, our friends arrived, in their lawyerly outfits and
breathing heavily from sprinting due to the emergency texts we sent. Again they
tried to plead their case and were rebuffed again. Instead of quitting, though, they dug their
heels in, so to speak, and asked to speak to a manager. They refused to be
denied, and much to our satisfaction were given three spots in line with the
rest of us (though with no coveted and symbolic pass in hand). For the next two
hours, we would stand and wait until we were directed to move again – this time
to stairs of the Supreme Court hall, and finally to the doors of the Supreme
Court. However, the angst over whether or not we would truly gain admission would
not end, as we saw small group after small group, including some of our friends,
seated, while others of us were kept outside the courtroom doors. We were still
unsure, even after all that we had been through, if all of us we be able to
witness in action the court who rightly and wrongly (I would argue mostly
wrongly, or at least not as forcefully as necessary) had decided the cases that
have meant so much to and for minorities in America. In the end, though, it was meant to be: We were
invited in and witnessed an argument for the very equal opportunity that had
brought us to law school and that had sustained us throughout our years. Some
of us even sat next to legendary civil rights activists. At the conclusion of
the arguments, we emerged outside, feeling confident that the University of Texas
would win (a point some of us made in interviews with journalists waiting
anxiously at the court’s exit) but, more importantly, we felt re-inspired by
all of the students and activists we saw rallying on those steps of the Supreme
Court. We were exhausted but confident that the sight of others like us who
traveled for justice would sustain us throughout, and, as I now sit in Boston
preparing for my final class of the week, less than 24 hours later, on less
than five hours of sleep over the course of three days, I can say that it did.
FIGHT ON!
http://live.huffingtonpost.com/r/segment/5061e89678c90a7cfb0001de
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