Look to Your Left, Look to Your Right

I still remember it to this day. How packed the auditorium was. How all around me were bright-eyed girls and boys wearing their assigned t-shirt colors for that day. How excited I was.

I remember sitting in the auditorium on my first day in law school filled with so much excitement — that, I was here, finally. I also remember, however, how instantly, my excitement turned into fear when the dean addressed the new batch of law students by telling us: “Look to your left, and then, look to your right. One of you won’t be here next year.”

I remember thinking to myself, surely, they’re exaggerating, right? They can’t mean that of a batch of over 350+ students, a fraction will remain.

It did not take long before I realized what they really meant by such an anecdote and what I was in for. After the first day of our Introduction to Law classes, where we had our first taste of reading and reciting cases (only this time, it was in front of an entire auditorium of our peers) to ‘prepare’ us for the real deal, about 50 withdrew. My original block, Block D, which started with more than 50 students enrolled, was cut down to a little over 40 on our first week of classes. Some withdrew, realizing that this was not for them. Some left because they only wanted to try law school because it was their parents’ dream. Some decided that maybe they would try again in different circumstances and maybe, a different law school.

By the end of our first semester of first year, that which was a little over 40 was cut down even further. By the end of my first year in law school, Block D — which started of with more than 50 students — was less than 30. What followed that was our block getting dissolved. My batch, which started with 6 blocks of 50+ students each, is down to 5 blocks of around 30 students.

Now, on my third year of law school and closer to the finish line than I think, I can’t help but reflect on this. They were right. It was and is really, really tough. Being in law school and in such a high-pressured environment, we constantly have to work incredibly hard to meet the demands and expectations. And every year, at the start of the year, when the dean tells us how much of us remain and how close we are to finishing this degree, it almost seems like an accomplishment. Almost. And maybe it is.

But also, I cannot lie to myself.

More than a warning that one may construe as a point of pride by law schools — of ‘excellence’ and refusing to water down the manner it teaches the law to accommodate students, look to your left, look to your right haunts me.

It haunts me because my being here means that others are not. And while for others, they chose to walk away and decide that maybe this was not for them, going on to discover their true passions and on to bigger, brighter things, for some, they were not given a choice. It was not because they didn’t try hard enough, but they were just left with no chance. The system was and is made so either we swim-or-sink. And it made us work hard, but it also made you compete — even when you didn’t want to. Some professors even blatantly say that the lowest 10% of the class will fail the class — just like that. The system is so flawed that rather than make it so everyone that deserves to pass passes, it sometimes is made so some blocks get professors that are grade reasonably and with 90s here and there, but others, get… well, they are worse off.

I know that someone out there will probably tell me that, well, Billie, the world is unfair and life isn’t easy. But isn’t that exactly what we’re supposed to change? Aren’t we supposed to make it so the world is less unfair and is more just — so that life is not necessarily easy but good for all?

I think more than realizing that others are not here, what haunts me the most is the idea that for others, law school has broken them and their spirit. For those that were left with no choice but to leave, it meant a dream shattered. It also meant investing so much of yourself, (your parents’) money, and time only to be told that no, you no longer go here. It’s excruciatingly painful. That what makes this so hard for me — thinking about how each step I take closer to the dream, the more dehumanizing this experience gets. I’m supposed to think of myself and that if I work hard and for this dream, I would have a chance at it — ignoring the fact that others have had to let that chance go and for some, they were robbed of a chance completely.

It’s hard for me to think about the many law students whose self-esteem, worth, and spirit are destroyed. How their joy are stolen from them. How dreams and the life they had hoped for are taken away from them. How they are weighed down by total defeat. It’s hard for me to think about how it’s not something an amount of scotch tape or glue will piece back together quite the same. It’s hard for me to think about how rather than nurturing and fostering the spirit to grow into something remarkable than imaginable, they are pulled from their roots.

I can only hope that when it all settles, each finds a pot for them to grow in, and when replanted, they bloom. But perhaps also, more than plucking the weeds for being “out of place”, we should think through weeds — that they’re given a place and a chance and that perhaps, they might be not weeds at all but are roots.

Maybe, the problem even isn’t weeds, but it’s in looking to our left and looking to our right, we are pulling and pulling. And that the plants are not growing because of weeds, but because of our pulling, we are making such that the conditions are not favorable — that we are ruining the soil rather than building a healthy soil on which our garden may grow.

Maybe, looking to the left and looking to the right can mean: that we’re in this together.