Good evening, faculty, family, friends, and my fellow students. The theme of this year’s celebration is “Rooted and Rising.” When I first read those words, I thought about the life of a tree. We often focus on the height of the branches, how high they reach, how much sun they capture. But any arborist will tell you that a tree’s ability to rise is entirely dependent on the health of the soil and the strength of the roots beneath the surface.
My journey to the law didn’t begin on a straight path. It began in 2021 at another institution, where a sudden, internal storm shook my foundations so deeply that I was nearly torn from the earth before I could even take hold—something I wasn’t prepared for. I was battling a private, exhausting, losing battle with alcoholism. While I was trying to navigate these spaces as a 1L, I was destroying the foundation of my own life—the life I had been working towards since I was nine years old. I eventually had to leave in order to learn how to be myself again. At the time, it felt like a permanent defeat.
But I’ve learned that sometimes, you have to be planted, again, into better soil, to truly bloom. And when a seedling begins to wither, you don’t give up on it, you change the earth around it so it has a fighting chance.
I chose WNE Law as my new venture. And it was here, through the grace of this community, that I found what it means to be truly rooted. To truly learn to rise.
What exactly rooted me? It was, and is, the sobriety I have maintained for nearly four years, the oxygen that allowed me to finally breathe. It was the love of my family and friends, who stood by me as I rebuilt my life into one I could take pride in. It was becoming a mother to my daughter, who became a new “why” behind every late-night study session. Though, if I’m being honest, she’s also the only person I know who can look at a freshly printed Contract I had drafted and decide it’s the perfect canvas for her drool.
And crucially, it was all of you. As a Black woman in this profession, being rooted isn’t always easy. We often walk into rooms where the soil feels rocky or the climate feels cold, not at all conducive to growth. But at WNE Law, I found friends who didn’t just study with me, but also celebrated with me, in and outside of classes. I met my best friend on the very first day of classes, who is now the Godmother to my child. My roots didn’t just go deep into the law; they went deep into this community.
I started my law school leadership as a 1L representative of the Black Law Students Association, and now, I am honored to be the President. In this role, I realized that leadership isn’t just about standing tall; it’s about ensuring the community is rich with fellowship. We have created a space where we didn’t just survive the curriculum; we nurtured one another’s ambitions and sense of belonging.
I know that for many of us, “rising” requires a different kind of strength. We often enter a legal system that was not originally designed to keep us steady. We face the exhaustion of being “the only one” in the room, the weight of representing an entire community, and the constant pressure to be twice as good to get only half as far. For Black legal professionals, the struggle isn’t just about passing the Bar; it’s about breaking through the obstacles that have tried to keep our brilliance underground for generations.
Yet, therein lies our hope. When we rise, we don’t just rise for ourselves. We rise for the ancestors who were silenced by the very laws we study. We rise for the children in our community who need to see that a JD is attainable, even with the barriers that plague our society.
Blooming is an act of defiance. It requires choosing, every day, to be consistent, determined, and unshakeable.
So, what does rising look like? Rising isn’t just about the JD behind our names or the bar cards in our wallets. For me, rising looks like taking the empathy I gained in the depths of my struggle and using it as a tool for justice.
It looks like standing in a courtroom and seeing not just a case file, but someone who might be struggling to find the right circumstances to thrive, just like I was. Rising means using this education to clear the path for those who will ultimately come after us, ensuring that the legal profession becomes a place where a Black woman, a mother, or someone in recovery doesn’t just survive, but leads.
To my fellow students who are earlier in their journey: If you feel like you’re struggling, or if the weight of your past feels too heavy to carry into your future, remember this: your struggle is not a detour. It’s a part of your soil. It’s what will make you a fierce, compassionate, and resilient advocate. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. Don’t be afraid to lean on the person sitting next to you. We are not meant to rise in isolation.
Think of the Great Redwoods. They are among the tallest, strongest living things on earth, yet their roots are surprisingly shallow. They don’t survive by digging deeper alone; they survive because their roots reach out horizontally, intertwining and locking together with the trees beside them. When the storms come, and in this profession, the storms will come, a Redwood doesn’t stand because of its own strength; it stands because the entire forest refuses to let it fall.
WNE Law will give you the ability to grow, and protect you while you find and build your own strength. As students of color, we are grounded in excellence, nurtured by a community that refuses to let any one of us stand alone, and soon, we will be ready to reach for the sun and provide protection and security for those who follow.
Lastly, to the faculty I have grown to respect and love, you didn’t just teach me the law; you protected my potential until I was strong enough to stand on my own. And more importantly, you managed to keep a straight face while reading my 1L exams. That level of composure is the true mark of a legal professional.
To the alumni and mentors in this room: thank you for being the ancient roots that held this ground before we arrived. Your presence is the proof that we belong in these spaces, and your success is the canopy under which we have safely grown.
To my fellow students of color: our rising is an act of reclamation. We are the answer to the prayers of those who were never allowed to lead within a courtroom. Our roots are deep, our resolve is tempered by fire, and our branches are destined to reach heights that were once thought impossible. It’s time to emerge. Thank you. ■