I was a firstgen law student back in 2003 (3L) (I wrote about my experience and background here: https://traumaandlawyersmentalhealth.blogspot.com/2020/09/first-generation-law-studentlawyer.html). I often feel strange, however, adding my perspective to the firstgen discussion because I worry that voice is unduly influenced by the fact that I've now been a lawyer for 15 years (although my experiences of past poverty and trauma have affected me the entire time).
So I dug up an old email that I wrote when I was still a law student in 2003 to a professor in a seminar class (with a social justice focus) after she made a comment to the effect that all law students must have come from relatively financially privileged backgrounds or they never could have made it there. And please note that this wasn't about privilege generally--it was specifically about socioeconomic background. I recognized both then and now that, despite my lack of privilege in some ways, there are in fact many forms of privilege that I possess, but the comment specifically said people from poverty could never make it.
I'm struck by how my concerns remain the same even nearly 20 years later--the way this profession has affected me, the way I feel I haven't been able to easily fit in. I thought I'd share it in case it might resonate with someone else who is a firstgen lawyer or student (or maybe it won't, and if not that's okay too). Identifying information has been removed since this really isn't about the particular professor in question.
"Dear Prof. X:
I am a student in both [of your seminar classes], and have some concerns that I would like to bring to your attention. This morning you may have noticed that a few students were upset by some comments that were made. In particular, the suggestion that law students are necessarily from relatively privileged backgrounds (or else we wouldn't be here) was a bit unsettling to me.
I should start by saying that I can understand why you have come to that conclusion. I am constantly surprised by the relative degree of privilege enjoyed by many, if not the overwhelming majority, of my classmates. It would no doubt be accurate to say that law students are on the whole a privileged class. Nevertheless, there are some of whom this is most certainly not true, who have come from poverty of varying degrees, and who do not relate to the experiences of privilege that most of their classmates and professors share. For these students, including myself, it can be difficult enough financially to make it through law school (given the rising costs of coursepacks, the cost of the articling application process, etc.). The disadvantages can have a social dimension as well. Being surrounded by peers who not only have little to no difficulty meeting their expenses, but also are able to live relatively luxurious lives, can be pretty difficult when you're struggling to make ends meet, and when you have no idea if you're going to be able to make it through the next semester. This also, of course, gives the students whose lives are free from that kind of stress a tremendous competitive advantage.
My real concern, however, doesn't relate to the disadvantages currently faced by some law students. Rather, I'm much more concerned about the construction of social space in the classroom setting and the way in which the assumption that all law students come from a similar, privileged background can exclude the perspectives of those who have had experiences that depart rather radically from the mainstream, and who already feel alienated in the law school environment. As a student who, among other things, was raised in relatively severe conditions of poverty, I am constantly aware of the restrictions on my ability to speak from personal experience in the classroom: first, because what I would have to say might be so divergent from what others routinely share about their lives and backgrounds that it would distract attention from the point that I was trying to make and would possibly even lead people to wonder somewhat suspiciously why I felt compelled to share it; second, because it would take significantly more effort for me to accurately communicate my experiences, because of the gaps that exist between the nature of my experiences and those of the students whose experiences are more "normal" and therefore more readily understood; third, because of the sense of social stigma and personal discomfort associated with the experiences themselves. At the same time, I am very aware that those whose backgrounds are for the most part unproblematically "normal" are not restricted to nearly the same degree. They are often free--if they so wish--to refer to their personal experiences in class and to explain the insights that they have derived from them (a huge advantage: to be able to not only explain what you think, but to also enhance that explanation by referring to the experiences that support those insights). This is in large part because their experiences are more "mainstream," and are therefore likely to be experienced as less disruptive of the flow of regular classroom discussion.
As isolating as the experience that I have described can be, I recognize, for the most part, that the faculty is not responsible for this unfortunate consequence of law school group dynamics. I do begin to feel disappointed, however, when the law school itself, through its professors or administration, adopts the voice of the majority as an unproblematic "we" and assumes that those with different experiences (that do not reflect privilege) are not to be found within the law school (presumably because they couldn't possibly have made it here) but are all somewhere "out there." For example, I noticed this tendency in first year criminal law when the discussion turned to the "mistake of fact" defence in sexual assault cases. At no point in the discussion was there any recognition of the possibility (probability?) that there were students in the class whose lives were profoundly affected by sexual assault, or any suggestion that the people who spoke up should do so in a manner that would be respectful of that experience, if not by restricting the content of their opinions, at least by expressing them in a sensitive manner. The result was a discussion that was at best a dispassionate, and at worst an insensitive, dissection of the cases, that proceeded on the apparent assumption that the victims were all somewhere "out there" (I was reminded of this experience when reading the piece on X) As a result, people leisurely expressed many apparently ill-considered views with unrestrained freedom. It never seemed to occur to anyone that the ideas that were being so casually tossed around could have a significant impact on the emotional well-being of someone personally struggling with those issues. If the professor had taken some responsibility for that dynamic, and ensured in advance that the class was aware that the people who suffer from those experiences may not only exi st "out there" somewhere in the general population, but may very possibly be among them, then perhaps some of the students who expressed their views that day would have taken greater care to formulate them in a sensitive manner, and to consider the import of what they were saying before they said it. At the very least, the students who had struggled with those experiences wouldn't be left to feel, because they could not comfortably speak it, that the possibility of the presence of their perspective in the classroom had been effectively denied.
I don't mean to be confrontational, but I sometimes find it difficult to understand why many of the most progressive professors, whom I most admire and whose main objective is to increase sensitivity to the otherness that exists "out there" in the larger social world, often tend to disregard, downplay, or deny the otherness that may exist in their own classroom. I've observed that the typical way of engaging the students in many such classes is to uniformly encourage them to acknowledge how privileged (it is assumed) they have been so that they may better understand the situation of those who have not been so fortunate. Together the professor and students acknowledge as a group that they have benefitted while others have suffered. The pedagogical strategy that is thereby adopted works wonderfully well, provided that the assumption on which it is based is true: that the audience consists solely of students who need to learn to put their own concerns in perspective so that they may see the more severe suffering of less privileged classes of persons in the world around them. This is definitely a worthy objective, and may well be very effective for the majority of students. What has surprised me is how rarely those constructing such a dynamic seem to consider the impact that it would have on the types of persons for the sake of whom it is presumably adopted should those people ever end up in the classroom itself.
If a person from a not so privileged background manages to survive elementary school and make it all the way to law school (believe me, it happens!), what might be the impact of being constantly sent the message from the most well-intentioned people that the very fact of her being there is conclusive evidence of a relatively privileged background? I submit that her identity would be denied on a very significant level. She would not only be invisible in fact because she may not, due to the factors I mentioned above, be able to display her true self to her professors and classmates. Her identity would also be denied on a more basic level by the message that it is inconceivable that a person with her background could even exist in that environment. This may be more damaging, as it goes beyond mere invisibility, and creates a presumption that she is a participant in that which she has experienced as standing against her. If she hints at having experienced otherwise, this presumption threatens to ensure that she will be greeted with suspicion (whiny, privileged law student who has never experienced real hardship...). Not only does she then feel that it would be difficult to communicate her experiences, she is also faced with the likelihood of an unreceptive audience if she ever has the strength or desire to attempt to do so. This is what I believed I heard from you today. You seemed quite certain that the students who spoke up to say "not me" were nevertheless coming from a background that was more privileged than they recognized. Probably a pretty good guess on your part in most cases, but one that has the potential to be pretty damaging when inadvertently misdirected.
None of what I have said is meant to be directed specifically at your teaching (hopefully, in my agitation, I have not unwittingly voiced my concerns in an adversarial way; if so, I apologize). I have certainly noticed the same dynamic in many other classes, but the comments today made explicit what usually goes unstated. I have a deep respect for your teaching and for the class, or else I wouldn't even dare to attempt to communicate my perspective. I am writing this because I believe it is important for you to be aware that there are people (or at least one!) who have this perspective.
Thank you for taking the time to read this.
Sincerely,
Crystal”
