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!